—Ml— 


WOLF  BREED 


She  Stood  upon  a  Monster  Bear  Skin.  Upon  the 
Rug,  Strewn  about  Her  Carelessly,  their  Bright 
Discs  Adance  with  Reflected  Light,  a  Thousand 
Minted  Gold  Pieces  Caught  the  Glint  of  the 
Low  Sun  (Page  2 68) 


WOLF  BREED 


JACKSON  GREGORY 

AUTHOR  OF  "the  OUTLAW,"  "UNDER  HANDICAP," 

"the  short  cut" 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  IN  COLOR  BY 
FRANK  TENNEY  JOHNSON 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
1917 


&' 


COPYMGHT,  19 16, 
By  DODD.  mead  &  COMPANY.  Inc. 


TO 

JACKSON  GREGORY,  Jr. 


370019 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEK  PAGE 

I  Open  House  at  Pi^re  Marquette's     .  i 

II  The  Coming  of  No-Luck  Drennen     .  lo 

III  The  Man  Under  the  Cloak      ...  20 

IV  The  Luck  of  No-Luck  Drennen      .  31 
V  The  Way  of  the  North      ....  41 

VI  The  Promise  of  a  Rainbow     ...  55 
VII   "A    Princess,    Sent   to    Pack    with 

Wolves!" 64 

VIII   Dust  of  Idols 76 

IX  "To  THE   Girl  I  Am  Going  to  Kiss 

Tonight!" 87 

X  Seekers  After  Gold 98 

XI  The  Witchery  of  Ygerne       .     .     .  113 
XII   Mere    Brute    ...  Or  Just  Plain 

Man? 126 

XIII  Ygerne's   Answer 142 

XIV  Drennen  Makes  a  Discovery      .     .  156 
XV  The  Tale  of  U  Beau  Diable            .     .  164 

XVI  The  Lost  Golden  Girl  Pays  an  Old 

Debt 179 

XVII  The  Passion  of  Ernestine  Dumont     .  192 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTU 

XVIII  The  Law  and  a  Man's  Desire 

XIX  The   Long  Trail       .     .     . 

XX  The  Fires  Which  Purify 

XXI  Chance  Heard  in  the  Night 

XXII  The  Path  Down  the  Cliff 

XXIII  Chateau  Bellaire     .     .     . 

XXIV  The  Speaking  of  Guns    . 
XXV  The  Belated  Dawn, 


PAGE 

207 
220 
234 
245 
254 
266 
277 
292 


WOLF  BREED 

CHAPTER    I 

OPEN  HOUSE  AT  PERE  MARQUETTe's 

MID  June,  and  the  eager  spring  had  burst 
triumphant  into  the  North  Woods.  The 
mountain  tops,  still  white  hostages  of  the  retreat- 
ing winter,  fettered  in  frozen  manacles,  were 
alone  in  their  reminiscence  of  the  implacable  sea- 
son. And  even  they  made  their  joyous  offerings 
to  the  newborn  springtime,  pouring  a  thousand 
flashing  cascades  to  leap  down  the  rocky  sides  and 
seek  out  the  hidden  nooks  and  valleys  where  seeds 
were  bursting  and  the  thawed  earth  lay  fruitful 
under  warm,  lush  grass.  The  birds  were  back 
from  their  southern  voyaging,  once  more  the 
squirrels  chattered  in  the  open,  noisily  forgetful 
of  the  rigours  of  winter  In  the  joy  of  green  things 
growing,  and  in  the  clear  blue  arch  of  the  sky 
the  sun  wheeled  gloriously  through  a  long  day. 
The  air,  always  wine,  was  now  a  sparkling,  bub- 

I 


2  WOLF  BREED 

bling,  rare  vintage  champagne,  dancing  in  the 
blood,  making  laughter  in  the  heart  and  sweet 
tumult  in  the  brain.  It  was  the  season  of  long, 
golden  days,  of  clear,  silver  nights,  of  budding 
life  everywhere. 

Because  of  three  unmistakable  signs  did  even 
the  most  sceptical  of  the  handful  of  hardy  spirits 
at  MacLeod's  Settlement  know  that  In  truth  the 
spring  had  come.  They  read  the  welcome  tidings 
in  the  slipping  of  the  snows  from  the  flinty  fronts 
of  Ironhead  and  Indian  Peak  a  thousand  feet 
above  the  greening  valley;  in  the  riotous  din  of 
squirrels  and  birds  interwoven  with  the  booming 
of  frogs  from  the  still  ponds;  and  finally  in  the 
announcement  tacked  upon  the  post-office  door. 
The  two  line  scrawl  In  lead  pencil  did  not  state 
in  so  many  words  the  same  tidings  which  the  blue 
birds  were  proclaiming  from  the  thicket  on  the 
far  bank  of  the  Little  MacLeod;  it  merely  an- 
nounced that  to-night  Pere  Marquette  and  his  be- 
loved wife,  Mere  Jeanne,  were  keeping  open 
house.  Every  one  in  the  Settlement  knew  what 
that  meant,  just  as  well  as  he  understood  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  noises  of  the  ice  splitting  upon  the 
ponds. 

Once  every  year  until  now  this  was  the  fiftieth 
had  such  an  announcement  appeared.  Not  always 
upon  the  door  of  the  post-office,  for  when  the 
announcements  began  there  was  no  post-office  in 


AT  PERE  MARQUETTE'S  3 

MacLeod's  Settlement.  But  annually  at  the  chosen 
time  set  apart  by  the  season  and  himself  Pere 
Marquette  would  appear  upon  the  little  narrow 
street,  earlier  than  the  earliest,  cock  his  bright 
eye  up  at  old  Ironhead  towering  high  above  him, 
rub  his  chin  complacently,  turn  his  head  sidewise 
so  that  he  might  hearken  to  the  thin  voices  of  the 
wild  creatures,  and  then,  his  message  tacked  up, 
return  to  the  private  room  behind  his  store  to  kiss 
Mere  Jeanne  awake  and  inform  her  with  grave 
joy  that  their  ^'jour  de  V an^*  had  come  to  them. 
Then,  and  with  much  frolicking  and  wine  and 
music,  would  their  new  year  begin. 

"It  is  our  anniversary,  m*sieu\**  he  would  say 
with  an  air  of  vast  confidence  to  the  first  man  he 
met  upon  the  street.  "To-night  we  keep  open 
house  here."  He  would  wave  his  hand  toward  the 
long,  low  log  building,  clay  chinked.  "We  will 
be  proud  of  your  presence  and  that  of  your 
frien's." 

It  had  been  remarked  that  the  anniversary  had 
come  one  year  upon  the  twenty-sixth  of  May,  an- 
other year  as  late  as  the  last  of  June.  Pere 
Marquette  had  laughed  softly  and  had  shaken  his 
head.  "What  matter?"  he  had  demanded.  "I, 
I  marry  myself  with  my  beloved  Mam'selle 
Jeanne  the  first  fine  day  of  spring.    Foila/^ 

The  central  door  of  the  Marquette  house, 
broadest  and  heaviest  and  most  conspicuous  both 


4  WOLF  BREED 

from  its  position  in  the  middle  of  its  valiant  line 
of  brothers,  had  been  closed  and  barred  since  last 
night.  It  gave  entrance  to  the  store;  here  behind 
his  long  counter,  peering  over  boxes  neatly  piled 
or  between  great  heaps  of  bacon  and  tobacco  and 
men's  clothing,  Pere  Marquette  looked  out  upon 
the  world  some  three  hundred  and  sixty-four  days 
of  the  ordinary  year.  But  upon  the  first  day  of 
spring  it  was  closed  and  locked  until  noon.  If  a 
man  needed  plug  cut  for  his  pipe,  why  then  let 
him  borrow  from  his  friend  or  steal  from  his 
enemy;  it  was  no  concern  of  Pere  Marquette.  If 
a  woman  required  flour  for  her  baking  let  her  do 
without;  it  would  serve  her  right  for  having  failed 
to  remember  the  great  day.  .  .  .  Then  at  high 
noon,  not  measured  by  any  ticking  clock  in  the 
Settlement,  the  matter  being  decided  by  Pere  Mar- 
quette and  the  sun  alone,  the  middle  door  was 
flung  open.  The  old  man,  dressed  In  his  best 
black  suit,  his  newest  skull  cap  set  like  a  crown 
upon  his  head,  stood  at  one  side  of  the  entrance, 
gravely  courteous,  his  black  eyes  twinkling,  twin 
withered  roses  in  his  old  cheeks.  Mere  Jeanne, 
silver  buckles  on  her  shoes,  her  ample  form  sur- 
rounded almost  but  not  quite  by  a  great  white, 
stiflf-starched  apron,  a  bouquet  of  flowers  in  one 
hand,  took  her  place  at  the  other  side.  And  then 
the  guests  began  to  arrive. 

You  could  list  the  men,  women,  children  and 


AT  PERE  MARQUETTE'S  5 

four  footed  live  stock  of  MacLeod's  Settlement 
upon  a  printed  page  and  still  have  room  left  for 
a  brief  biography  of  each.  They  all  came,  all 
dressed  in  their  best  holiday  raiment,  all  happy 
and  eager  for  the  celebration.  From  far  down 
the  Little  MacLeod  river  men  trod  the  slushy 
trails,  rough  fellows  for  the  most  part  and  silent, 
but  with  a  tongue  in  each  head  to  propose  a  toast 
to  host  and  hostess.  From  over  the  ridge,  from 
French  Valley,  from  as  far  east  as  St.  Croix  and 
as  far  west  as  Dunvegan's  Post,  the  guests 
trooped  in.  Miners,  trappers,  little  stock  men; 
scions  of  old  French  families  with  grand  names, 
descendants  of  younger  English  sons  with  riotous 
blood,  Americans  who  had  crossed  the  border 
with  much  haste  and  scant  baggage;  many  men 
whom  the  world  had  outlawed  and  whom  the 
North  Woods  had  accepted  as  empire  builders; 
men  of  pure  blood  knocking  elbows  with  swarthy 
'^breeds,"  oddly  alike  in  the  matters  of  keenly 
alert  eyes  and  magnificent  bodies. 

As  they  filed  through  the  Frenchman's  door 
they  entered  not  the  store  at  all  but  what  was 
Pere  Marquette's  idea  of  a  drawing  room.  The 
long  counters  and  shelves  were  there,  but  the  bar- 
rels of  pickled  meat,  the  piles  of  soap  and  tinned 
meats,  the  bags  of  flour,  the  stacks  of  men's  cloth- 
ing, all  this  had  been  whisked  away  and  out  of 
sight  as  though  by  magic.     A  strip  of  new  red 


6  WOLF  BREED 

oilcloth  upon  one  counter,  a  strip  of  blue  upon 
another,  transformed  both  into  auxiliary  seats. 
Benches,  recently  brought  in  from  the  rear  store- 
room by  Pere  Marquette's  man,  Jules,  and  freshly 
dusted  by  him,  lined  the  walls.  Even  Mere 
Jeanne's  bedroom  had  been  robbed  of  chairs; 
boxes  dressed  gaily  in  gingham  or  perchance  even 
flaunting  remnants  of  chintz,  were  amply  good 
enough  for  the  boys  and  girls. 

"My  frien',  you  do  me  the  honour,"  said  Pere 
Marquette  over  and  over  as  some  stranger  upon 
whom  his  quick  black  eyes  had  never  rested  until 
now  accepted  his  hand  and  entered  to  be  again 
welcomed  by  Mere  Jeanne.  "You  make  mamma 
and  me  ver'  happy." 

Let  the  frontier  push  out  as  far  and  as  fast  as 
It  pleases,  the  violin  always  goes  with  it.  Men 
march  the  more  intrepidly  to  the  scraping  of  the 
skilful  bow.  There  were  two  fiddles  already  go- 
ing in  the  next  room;  Pere  Marquette  had  seen  to 
that.  And  in  the  same  room  stood  a  great,  sturdy 
homemade  table,  crippled  in  one  leg,  yet  standing 
valiantly,  like  an  old  soldier  home  from  the  wars. 
Mere  Jeanne's  own  plump  hands  had  placed  the 
best  tablecloth  upon  it,  and  there,  in  its  nest  of 
field  flowers,  was  the  great  bowl  which  had  been 
the  most  serviceable  of  the  handful  of  wedding 
gifts  fifty  years  ago.  Since  the  crisp  sting  had 
not  yet  gone  out  of  the  air  the  high  red  tide  in 


AT  PERE  MARQUETTE'S  7 

the  bowl  was  steaming  an  invitation  which  was 
irresistible. 

Long  before  one  o'clock  all  of  the  Settlement 
had  arrived,  each  one  had  had  his  bit  of  the  heady 
punch,  small  glasses  for  the  women,  great  pewter 
mugs  many  times  refilled  for  the  men.  The  big 
bowl  was  proverbially  like  the  purse  of  Fortunatus 
in  its  scorn  of  emptiness.  Mere  Jeanne  cere- 
moniously replenished  it  time  and  again,  carried 
brimming  cups  to  the  fiddlers,  and  the  merry  mu- 
sic, having  ceased  just  long  enough  for  the  musi- 
cians to  gulp  down  *'Your  health,"  went  on 
more  Inspiringly  than  before.  Heavy  booted 
feet,  moving  rythmically,  made  the  dance  a  thing 
to  hear  as  well  as  see,  deep  throated  laughter 
boomed  out  incessantly,  the  lighter,  fewer  voices 
of  women  weaving  in  and  out  of  the  clamour. 

All  afternoon  men  came  In,  now  and  then  a 
woman  with  them.  They  drank  and  ate,  they 
smoked  Pere  Marquette's  tobacco  from  the  jars 
set  about  everywhere,  they  traded  old  news  for 
new  and  new  for  old,  they  speculated  upon  the 
coming  thaws  and  trapping  to  be  found  down  on 
the  Little  MacLeod  and  up  towards  the  Silver 
Lake  country,  they  told  of  the  latest  gold  strike 
in  the  Black  Bear  hills  and  predicted  fresh  strikes 
to  be  made  before  the  thaw  was  ten  days  old. 
Many  types  of  men  and  women,  some  no  doubt 
good,  some  bad  no  doubt,  all  mingling  freely. 


8  WOLF  BREED 

At  five  o'clock  Pcrc  Marquette  cleared  his  voice, 
scrambled  with  rare  agility  upon  one  of  his  own 
counters  and  made  the  expected  announcement: 

*'Ah,  my  frien's,  you  make  us  ver'  happy,  me  an' 
Mamma  Jeanne.  We  wish  our  leetle  house  she 
was  more  big  to-day,  big  like  our  heart,  that  she 
can  hold  the  whole  worl'."  He  hugged  his  thin 
old  arms  to  his  breast  and  smiled  upon  them.  "To- 
night, all  night  long,  mes  amis,  you  are  welcome. 
The  doors  of  Pere  Marquette  have  forgot  how 
to  close  up  to-night !  But  listen,  one  instant  I  Jus' 
across  the  road  my  warehouse  she  is  open.  The 
violins  have  gone  there.  There  you  may  dance, 
dance  as  Mam'selle  Jeanne  an'  I  dance  it  is  fifty 
year  to-night.  Dance  all  night  long.  And  while 
the  yo'ng  folk  whose  hearts  are  in  their  heels  walse 
yonder,  here  we  older  ones  .  .  .  Ah!"  as  sudden 
voices,  cheering,  cut  into  his  running  words.  "You 
have  not  forgot,  eh?" 

It  was  the  signal  for  division.  The  few  women 
who  had  children  took  them  home  with  them ;  the 
other  women,  young  and  old,  following  like  a 
holiday  flotilla  in  the  wake  of  Mere  Jeanne, 
tacked  through  the  muck  of  the  road  to  the  ware- 
house; many  of  the  younger  and  some  few  of  the 
older  men  followed  them;  and  in  the  house  of 
Fere  Marquette,  in  the  yellow  light  of  a  half 
dozen  kerosene  lamps  and  many  tall  candles,  the 
real  affair  of  the  evening  began. 


AT  PERE  MARQUETTE'S  ft 

Great  logs  oozing  molten  pitch  were  burning 
Moisily  in  the  two  rock  fireplaces,  the  red  flames 
swept  up  into  the  blackened  chimneys  to  spread 
cheer  within  and  to  scatter  sparks  like  little  stars 
in  the  clear  night  without,  the  punch  bowl  had  at 
last  been  allowed  to  stand  empty  not  because  men 
were  through  drinking  but  because  stronger  drink, 
men's  drink,  had  appeared  in  many  bottles  upon 
the  shelves,  a  game  of  poker  was  running  In  one 
corner  of  a  room,  a  game  of  solo  In  another; 
yonder,  seen  through  an  open  door,  six  men  were 
shaking  dice  and  wagering  little  and  bigger  sums 
recklessly;  a  little  fellow  with  a  wooden  leg  and 
a  terribly  scarred  face  was  drawing  shrieking 
rag  time  from  an  old  and  asthmatic  accordion 
while  four  men,  their  big  boots  clumping  noisily 
upon  the  bare  floor,  danced  like  awkward  trained 
bears  when  the  outer  door,  closed  against  the 
chill  of  the  evening,  was  flung  open  and  a  stranger 
to  MacLeod's  settlement  stood  a  moment  framed 
against  the  outside  night.  A  score  of  eyes,  going 
to  him  swiftly,  studied  him  with  unhidden  curi- 
osity. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  COMING  OF  NO-LUCK  DRENNEN 

ALL  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  come  to  the 
North  Woods;  some  because  they  want  to, 
some  because  they  have  to.  Some  because  they 
are  drawn  by  the  fine  lure  of  adventure  and  the 
urge  of  the  restless  spirit,  some  because  they  are 
driven  by  that  bloodhound  which  is  the  law.  All 
types,  all  classes.  And  yet  now,  standing  jauntily 
upon  Pere  Marquette's  threshold,  was  a  type  of 
which  as  yet  the  Settlement  had  had  no  knowledge. 
He  was  young  and  wore  his  black  mustaches 
with  all  of  the  fierceness  of  youth.  His  boots  were 
at  once  the  finest  and  the  smallest  which  Mac- 
Leod's had  ever  seen  upon  a  man's  feet.  He  wore 
gloves,  and  when  in  due  time  the  hands  came  out 
of  the  gloves,  they  were  little  like  a  woman's  and 
white  and  soft.  He  was  a  handsome  young  devil- 
of-a-fellow  with  all  of  the  soft,  graceful  beauty  of 
the  far  southland.  His  mouth,  smiling  now,  was 
red  lipped,  his  teeth  a  glistening  white.  Eyes  very 
big,  very  black,  very  soft,  very  tender,  smiling 
too.    From  the  crown  of  his  wide  black  hat  to  the 

10 


NO-LUCK  DRENNEN  ii 

tall  heels  of  his  dainty  boots  he  was  such  a  dandy 
as  demanded  more  than  a  casual  glance. 

**Amigos**  he  cried,  the  door  closed  now,  his 
back  to  it,  his  wide  hat  describing  a  slow,  graceful 
arc  as  he  raised  it  gallantly  from  his  black  hair, 
"I  have  the  thirst  of  a  lost  soul.  Who  will  drink 
with  me?'' 

He  whipped  the  glove  from  his  right  hand, 
caught  his  hat  under  his  arm  and  brought  from 
his  pocket  a  shining  gold  piece  which  he  tossed  to 
one  of  Pere  Marquette's  counters.  A  few  of  the 
men  laughed,  seeing  his  mistake,  while  others 
murmured,  "Dago,"  a  little  disgustedly  and  re- 
turned their  attention  to  their  drink,  gaming  or 
talk.     Pere  Marquette  came  forward  briskly. 

"M'sieu,"  he  said  graciously,  offering  his  hand, 
"your  presence  honours  Mamma  Jeanne  an'  me. 
We  are  to-night  fifty  year  marry  .  .  .  you  shall 
put  your  money  in  your  pocket,  m'sieu.  One  does 
not  pay  to  drink  at  the  place  of  Pere  Marquette 
to-night." 

The  young  fellow  looked  at  him  in  surprise, 
then  turned  wondering  eyes  about  him,  even  peer- 
ing through  the  open  door  into  the  further  rooms 
as  though  asking  himself  what  manner  of  place 
was  this  where  men  drank  and  did  not  pay.  Then 
he  laughed  softly. 

"Your  pardon,  senor,"  he  said  politely,  taking 
the  old  man's  proffered  hand  and  bending  over  it 


12  WOLF  BREED 

gracefully.    "Outside  I  was  athirst  like  a,  man  ia 
hell  .  .  ." 

A  queer  change  came  orer  his  smiling  face  as 
his  eyes,  journeying  beyond  the  thin,  black  coated 
figure  of  Pere  Marquette,  rested  upon  a  secluded 
corner  of  the  room  where  in  the  nook  by  the  fire- 
place a  quiet  game  of  cards  was  in  progress. 

"Senorital  Senorita!"  he  cried  softly,  pushing* 
by  Pere  Marquette  and  coming  forward  swiftly. 
^^Dispensame!    Forgive  me,  senorita  I'* 

It  was  Ernestine,  the  one  woman  remaining  in 
the  room,  Ernestine  Dumont,  who  had  come  from 
over  the  ridge  with  big  Kootanie  George,  her  lat- 
est lover.  She  was  sitting  close  to  Kootanie*s  side 
now,  whispering  occasionally  In  his  ear  as  a  hand 
was  dealt  him,  for  the  most  part  contentedly  sip- 
ping at  her  little  glass  of  sweet  wine  as  she  sat 
back  and  watched.  She,  with  the  others,  had 
turned  toward  the  entrant,  her  eyes  remaining 
upon  him  until  now.  She  smiled,  no  doubt  pleased 
at  his  notice,  while  Kootanie  George,  wide-shoul- 
dered, mighty  limbed,  the  biggest  man  within  a 
hundred  miles  of  the  Settlement,  glared  at  him  in 
frowning  wonder. 

"Forgive  you?"  laughed  Ernestine,  after  a 
quick  glance  at  George  upon  whose  shoulder  she 
laid  her  hand  lightly.    "What  for?'* 

"I  did  not  know  that  a  lady  was  here,"  ex- 
plained the  young  fellow  eagerly.    He  was  almost 


NO-LUCK  DRENNEN  13 

standing  over  her,  his  eyes  for  her  alone  as  he 
turned  up  his  mustaches  more  fiercely  yet  and  his 
eyes  grew  the  more  tender.  "I  speak  roughly 
and  not  guarding  my  tongue  which  should  suffer 
and  not  taste  wine  for  a  week,  senorita.  I  am 
ashamed." 

Ernestine  blushed;  again  several  men  had 
laughed.  He  had  said  *'hcll'^  and  had  apologised 
to  her  .  .  . 

"We'll  let  It  go  this  time,"  she  laughed  a  trifle 
awkwardly.  "And  as  for  not  drinking  anything. 
.  .  .  Look  out  or  you'll  spill  what  Papa  Mar- 
quette is  bringing  you  now.'* 

"We  are  all  frien's,  m'sieu,"  said  Papa  Mar- 
quette courteously,  offering  a  brimming  glass. 
"You,  too.  And  it  is  wrong  that  one  should  thirst 
to-night." 

The  other  took  the  glass  with  another  of  his 
graceful  bows. 

"May  you  have  other  fifty  years  of  happiness 
with  your  senora,"  he  said  warmly.  "Your  health 
and  her  health,  sefior.'*  The  glass,  at  his  lips, 
halted  and  came  away  for  a  moment  while  he 
thought  to  introduce  himself.  "I  am  Ramon  Gar- 
aa. 

He  said  it  as  one  might  have  said,  "I  am  the 
King  of  Spain."  Simply  enough  but  with  a  proud 
simplicity.    Then  he  put  back  his  head  and  drank. 

After  that  Ramon  Garcia  needed  no  coaxing  to 


14  WOLF  BREED 

remain.  He  fitted  into  the  throng  as  he  seemed 
to  do  all  things,  gracefully.  Since  he  could  not 
spend  his  money  to-night  for  wine  and  since  spend 
it  he  must  he  ventured  it  pleasantly  at  the  table 
where  the  dice  rolled.  Between  throws  he  made 
many  slender  cigarettes  of  fine  tobacco  and  thin 
white  papers ;  winning,  he  forgot  to  note  how  much 
in  turning  his  eyes  with  tender  admiration  upon 
Ernestine  Dumont,  whose  glance  more  than  once 
met  his;  losing,  he  hummed  languid  snatches  of 
Mexican  love  songs  in  a  remarkably  pure  tenor 
voice. 

Before  he  had  been  with  them  an  hour  it  was 
evident  to  many,  not  last  of  all  to  big  Kootanie 
George,  that  the  "Mex"  was  flirting  openly  with 
the  yellow  haired  Ernestine.  It  was  equally  evi- 
dent that  his  notice  did  not  embarrass  her  as  his 
apology  had  done.  She  curved  her  red  lips  at  him 
when  George  was  not  looking,  she  glanced  down 
as  demure  as  a  bashful  school  girl  when  her  big 
lover  was  watching  her.  George  began  to  lose  at 
his  cards  and  when  he  swore  at  his  luck  did  not 
apologise. 

At  last  Ramon  Garcia  wearied  of  the  dice.  He 
pocketed  his  winnings  and  pushed  back  his  chair. 
A  guitar  in  its  case  in  a  corner  of  the  room  had 
caught  his  roving  eye.  Standing  with  his  back  to 
the  wall,  leaning  indolently,  he  sent  his  white 
fingers  wandering  across  the  strings  and  his  eyes 


NO-LUCK  DRENNEN  15, 

drifting  back  to  find  those  of  Ernestine  Dumont. 
Then  through  the  discordance  of  other  voices,  of 
clicking  chips,  rustling  cards,  dice  snapped  down 
upon  the  hard  table  tops,  chink  of  glass  and  bot- 
tle neck,  the  voice  of  Ramon  Garcia,  liberated 
softly,  filled  the  room  with  its  richness  as  a  room 
is  filled  with  the  perfume  of  flowers.  Such  music 
as  he  made  did  not  often  come  into  the  North 
Woods,  and  men  .  .  .  and  one  woman  .  .  . 
listened. 

He  sang  it  in  the  Spanish,  a  tongue  which  no 
other  man  here  understood.  Yet  they  must  all 
guess  the  meaning  of  the  words.  They  were  love 
words,  tenderly  lilted.  And  they  were  being  sung 
to  Ernestine  Dumont.  There  was  a  little  smile 
upon  young  Ramon's  lips,  a  hint  of  gay  laughter  in 
his  voice  and  in  his  soft  eyes  a  deal  of  love  mak- 
ing. Kootanie  George  scowled,  Ernestine  twirled 
her  glass  in  her  fingers,  one  or  two  men  laughed. 

When  he  had  done  Ramon  Garcia  swept  his 
fingers  across  the  strings  in  a  sort  of  mournful 
regret.  Then,  when  there  was  a  sudden  clapping 
of  hands,  he  bowed,  smiled  and  sang  again,  this 
time  putting  the  words  of  his  little  song,  the  same 
song,  into  English: 

"The  perfume  of  roses,  of  little  red  roses; 

(Thou  art  a  rose,  oh,  so  sweet,  corazonf) 
The  laugh  of  the  water  who  falls  in  the  fountain  ; 

(Thou  art  the  fountain  of  love,  corazon!) 


1 6  WOLF  BREED 

The  brightness  of  stars,  of  little  stars  golden ; 

(Estrelia  de  mi  vtdal    My  little  life  star!) 
The  shine  of  the  moon  through  the  magnolia  tree; 

I  am  so  sad  till  thou  come,  mi  amor! 
Diosf  It  is  sweet  to  be  young  and  to  love! 

More  sweet  than  wine  ...  to  be  young  and  to  love  I" 

In  the  clapping  of  hands  which  broke  out  when 
he  had  done  Ernestine's  was  to  be  heard  above 
Kootanie  George's  grunt  of  disgust. 

"No  man  talk,  that,"  he  snorted,  careless  of 
who  heard.     ''Dam'  slush." 

"Your  deal,  Koot,"  laughed  Blunt  Rand,  the 
American  trapper  from  the  headwaters  of  the 
Little  MacLeod.  "Don't  let  the  Mexican  gent 
spoil  your  play  that-away.  Deal  'em  up,  why 
don't  you?" 

Kootanie  George  glared  at  Rand  and  gathered 
in  the  cards.  He  understood  as  did  Ernestine  and 
the  others  at  the  table  the  gibe  which  lay  under 
Rand's  words.  The  American's  fancies,  too,  had 
run  toward  Ernestine  Dumont  not  so  long  ago, 
and  she  had  not  deigned  to  take  notice  of  him 
after  the  coming  of  Kootanie. 

"Mexican  gent,  huh?"  said  George  slowly.  "If 
you  mean  Greaser  why  don't  you  say  Greaser?" 

Ramon  Garcia  had  again  approached  the  table. 
He  stopped  suddenly  as  George's  snarl  came  to 
him,  and  his  white  teeth  showed  for  a  quick  flash 
under  his  lifted  lip.    Then,  his  eyes  smiling  darkly, 


NO-LUCK  DRENNEN  lyj 

he  came  on  again,  bending  intimately  over  Ernes- 
tine's chair. 

*'They  are  dancing  over  there,"  he  said  softly. 
**Will  you  dance  with  me,  senorita?" 

George  merely  looked  at  them  sidewise.  Er- 
nestine glanced  up  sharply  and  for  a  moment  in- 
decision stood  easily  readable  in  her  eyes.  Then 
she  shook  her  head. 

"Not  now,"  she  said  quietly.  "Maybe  after  a 
while.    I  don't  know.    Anyway  not  now." 

^^Gracias,  senorita."  He  thanked  her  quite  as 
though  she  had  taken  his  proffered  arm.  And 
turning  away  he  went  back  to  the  game  of  dice 
and  his  wine  glass.     Kootanie  laughed. 

"Better  look  out  for  him,  Koot,"  grinned  Blunt 
Rand.  "Them  kind  carry  cold  steel  sharp  on 
both  edges.  They  get  it  between  your  shoulder 
blades  and  then  twist  it.  It's  awful  uncomfort- 
able." 

Rand  had  drunk  his  share  of  toasts  to  the  eternal 
joy  of  the  Marquettes  and  the  drinking  had  given 
to  his  tongue  a  wee  bit  of  recklessness,  to  his  heart 
a  little  venom.  Out  of  a  clear  sky,  his  words  fall- 
ing crisply  through  the  little  silence,  he  demanded 
of  no  one  in  particular  and  in  all  seeming  inno- 
cence : 

"What's  happened  to  No-luck  Drennen?  I 
ain't  seen  him  here  of  late." 

Kootanie  George  turned  his  head  slowly  and 


1 8  lWOLF  breed 

stared  at  him.  Rand  was  fingering  his  cards,  his 
eyes  hastily  busied  with  their  corners.  George 
turned  from  him  to  Ernestine.  She  bit  her  lips 
and  a  spurt  of  red  leaped  up  Into  her  cheeks.  Her 
eyes  met  his  a  moment,  steely  and  hard.  Then 
they  went  to  Blunt  Rand,  as  bright  and  hateful  as 
twin  daggers. 

The  man  upon  Rand's  right  started  to  laugh. 
He  altered  his  mind  as  Kootanle  George's  eyes 
turned  slowly  upon  him  and  changed  the  laugh  to 
a  cough  behind  his  hand.  Nobody  offered  to  an- 
swer the  question ;  It  was  accepted  as  one  of  those 
utterances  put  Into  the  form  of  an  Interrogation 
merely  for  rhetorical  reasons  and  requiring  no 
reply.  For  It  was  common  talk  through  the  camps 
that  No-luck  Drennen  had  done  the  Impossible  and 
gotten  blood  from  a  turnip;  In  other  words  that 
he  had  drawn  love  out  of  the  heart  of  Ernestine 
Dumont.  And  It  was  known  that  the  miracle  had 
been  a  twin  wonder  In  that  Drennen  had  refused 
to  see  and  when  he  had  at  last  seen  had  refused 
to  accept.  Ernestine's  love  had  been  like  Ernes- 
tine herself,  reckless.  And,  yes,  Drennen  had 
laughed  at  her.  He  had  told  her  brutally  that 
he  had  no  more  use  for  a  woman  In  his  life  than 
he  had  for  a  cat.  Certainly  not  for  a  woman  like 
her.  His  words  had  been  given  after  Drennen's 
fashion;  like  a  slap  In  the  face.  All  this  had  been 
less  than  a  year  ago. 


NO-LUCK  DRENNEN  19 

Elated  at  the  success  with  which  his  words  had 
met,  Blunt  Rand  laughed.  Again  Kootanie 
George  looked  at  him  steadily. 

*'What  are  you  lookin'  for  Drennen  for?"  he 
asked  quietly. 

"Oh,  nothin',"  rejoined  the  other  lightly. 
"Only  when  I  come  through  Little  Smoky  the 
other  day  an  ol'  flame  of  his  asked  about  him. 
The  Fire  Bird  they  call  her.    Know  her?" 

Ernestine  Dumont's  face  grew  a  shade  redder 
in  Its  mortification  even  while  she  knew  that  the 
man  was  lying  to  tease  her.  Then  she  sat  back 
with  a  little  gasp  and  even  slow  moving  Kootanie 
George  turned  quickly  as  a  heavy  voice  called 
from  the  door: 

"YouVe  a  liar,  Blunt  Rand." 

It  was  No-luck  Drennen  just  come  in  and  stand- 
ing now,  his  hat  far  back  upon  his  head,  his  hands 
upon  his  hips,  staring  across  the  room  at  Blunt 
Rand. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  MAN  UNDER  THE   CLOAK 

DAVE  DRENNEN  was  a  big  man,  no  man 
here  so  big  save  Kootanie  George  alone, 
who  was  two  inches  the  taller  and  fully  thirty 
pounds  the  heavier.  The  Canadian  stood  four 
inches  better  than  six  feet  in  his  squat,  low-heeled 
boots  and  must  turn  sideways  to  get  his  massive 
shoulders  through  most  doors  hereabouts.  Un- 
like most  very  tall  men  George  carried  himself 
straight,  his  enormous  chest  thrust  forward. 

Drennen  was  younger  by  half  a  dozen  years, 
slenderer,  of  cleaner  build.  Any  man  at  Pere 
Marquette's  would  have  emptied  his  pockets  that 
night  to  witness  a  fight  between  the  two.  Men 
as  a  rule  liked  Kootanie  George,  slow  moving, 
slow  spoken,  heavily  good  humoured.  And  as  an 
even  more  unbroken  rule  they  disliked  Dave 
Drennen.  Throughout  the  far  places  of  the  great 
northwest  into  which  of  recent  years  he  had  fitted 
restlessly  he  was  known  as  a  man  at  once  too  silent 
and  too  quarrelsome.  He  trod  his  own  trail  alone. 
Other   men   had   *'pardners";    Drennen   was   no 

20 


UNDER  THE  CLOAK  21 

man's  friend.  He  was  hard  and  he  was  bitter. 
Not  yet  at  the  end  of  his  first  score  and  ten,  his 
mouth  had  grown  set  in  stern,  harsh  lines,  his 
heavy  brows  had  acquired  the  habit  of  bunching 
ominously  over  eyes  in  which  was  the  glint  of  steel. 
He  was  a  man  whose  smile  was  unpleasant,  whose 
laugh  could  be  as  ugly  as  many  a  man's  curse. 

It  looked  like  a  quarrel  between  No-luck  Dren- 
nen  and  Blunt  Rand.  And  yet  the  men  who  ceased 
their  playing  at  the  snap  of  his  voice  forgot  Rand 
and  hungered  for  trouble  between  Drennen  and 
Kootanie  George.  Rand  had  been  measured  long 
ago  and  didn't  count.  He  blabbed  big  words 
when  he  was  drunk  and  whined  when  a  man  struck 
him.  He  would  swallow  his  words  now  and  swal- 
low with  them  No-luck  Drennen's  vicious  *'You're 
a  liar.  Blunt  Rand."  Even  if  Drennen  slapped  his 
face  he  would  merely  crawl  away  like  a  little  bug, 
spitting  venom. 

Drennen  was  standing  ten  feet  from  him  and 
made  no  move  to  draw  closer. 

"Did  you  hear  me.  Rand?"  he  demanded 
sharply. 

"I  heard  you,"  grumbled  the  trapper.  *'What's 
eatin'  you,  Dave,  anyway?" 

*Tell  them  you  lied." 

Rand  flushed,  and  inspired  by  his  liquor  a  sud- 
den, unusual  stubbornness  sprang  up  in  his  eyes. 
He  heard  Ernestine  laugh  softly. 


22  WOLF  BREED 

*'You  go  to  hell,"  he  cried  hotly.  *'I  got  a 
right  ..." 

"No  man  has  a  right  to  lie  about  me,"  an- 
nounced Drennen  crisply.  The  big  hands  at  his 
sides  had  clenched  swiftly  with  knotting  muscles. 
At  last  he  took  a  quick  step  forward,  his  quarrel- 
some mood  riding  him.  *'If  you  don't  want  me 
to  choke  the  tongue  out  of  your  head  tell  them 
you  lied." 

^'Messieurs,  messieurs/^  cried  poor  old  Mar- 
quette imploringly.  "For  the  love  of  God!  To- 
night all  mus*  be  gay,  all  mus'  be  frien's.  It  is 
the  night  Mamma  Jeanne  an'  me  we  are  marry 
fifty  year  .  .  ." 

Drennen  snarled  at  him,  shaking  the  thin  old 
hand  away  angrily.  Rand  was  upon  his  feet, 
some  of  the  stubbornness  already  fled  from  his 
eyes,  the  sound  of  Ernestine  Dumont's  taunting 
laugh  lost  to  him  in  the  harsh  voice  of  Drennen. 

"I  don't  want  no  trouble  to-night,  Dave,"  he 
said  swiftly.  "It's  old  Papa  Marquette's  weddin' 
night.  I  ...  I  was  jus'  joshin',  Dave."  And 
then  as  Ernestine  laughed  again,  he  spat  out, 
"Jus'  joshin'  to  tease  Ernestine  here." 

^^Sangre  de  diosP^  murmured  Ramon  Garcia 
gently,  his  black  eyes  liquid  fire.  "He  is  a  little 
coward,  that  Rand." 

Hardly  more  thari  a  whisper  and  Garcia  quite 
across  the  room  from  Rand.     And  yet  the  still- 


UNDER  THE  CLOAK  23 

ness  was  so  perfect  that  Rand  heard  and  jerked 
his  head  up,  swinging  toward  the  Mexican. 

*'You  little  Greaser  I"  he  cried  shrilly.  *Tou 
dirty  breed,  you !"  He  pushed  through  the  crowd 
to  Garcia's  table.  "Coward,  am  I?  I'll  show 
you." 

Ramon  Garcia's  laughter  greeting  the  hot 
words  was  a  clear  burst  of  unaffected,  boyish 
merriment.  He  tilted  his  chair  back  against  the 
wall  and  turned  a  delighted  face  up  to  Rand's 
flushed  one. 

'*Senor,"  he  chided  softly,  shaking  a  slender 
white  finger  very  close  to  Rand's  nose,  "have 
you  forgot  it  is  the  gala  night  of  our  good  host, 
the  Papa  Frangais?  That  you  don't  care  for 
trouble  to-night?  Mama  mia!  You  are  a  comic, 
no?" 

Then  bringing  his  hand  away  and  hooking  both 
thumbs  impudently  into  the  armholes  of  his  gay 
vest  the  Mexican  smiled  as  he  hummed  softly, 
glancing  away  briefly  to  where  Ernestine  Dumont 
was  watching  them : 

"The  perfume  of  roses,  of  litde  red  roses; 
(Thou  art  a  rose,  oh,  so  sweet,  corazon/)** 

With  men  laughing  at  him  Blunt  Rand  struck. 
The  young  Mexican  was  still  in  his  chair.  Like 
a  cat  he  slipped  from  it  now,  avoiding  the  heavy, 


24  WOLF  BREED 

swinging  blow,  moving  to  one  side  with  swift 
gracefulness,  standing  with  the  table  between  him 
and  Rand.  As  he  moved  his  right  hand  slid  into 
his  pocket. 

"You  dago  I*'  Rand  shouted  at  him,  lunging 
forward  while  men  scrambled  out  of  the  way. 
"Call  me  coward  an'  then  go  for  your  knife  I 
Fight  with  your  hands,  damn  you.'* 

Again  Garcia  avoided  him  easily,  calm  and 
quick  eyed,  offering  panthcrine  swiftness  against 
the  blind  fury  of  Rand. 

**Si,  senor,"  he  answered  lightly.  "With  the 
hands.  But  the  hands  I  mus'  keep  without  dirt, 
senor I" 

His  hand  came  away  from  his  pocket  and  he 
made  a  sudden  gesture,  still  laughing,  toward 
Rand's  face.  The  trapper  jerked  back  quickly. 
Then  a  great  booming  swell  of  laughter  went  up, 
even  the  slow  rumble  of  Kootanie  George's  voice 
and  the  tinkling  tremulo  of  Ernestine  Dumont's 
joining  it.  Ramon  Garcia  had  brought  out  his 
gloves  and  had  drawn  them  on  before  Rand  had 
understood. 

In  size  and  physique  Rand  was  the  average 
there.  The  young  Mexican  was  the  shortest, 
slightest  man  in  the  house.  But  none  knows  bet- 
ter than  the  dwellers  in  the  North  Woods  that 
it  is  unwise  to  judge  men  by  mere  size  of  body. 
It  is  well  to  look  to  the  eyes  of  one's  antagonist. 


UNDER  THE  CLOAK  25 

Garcia  sprang  forward  and  slapped  Rand'a 
face  so  that  the  face  burned  and  the  sound  of  the 
blow  was  like  a  pistol  shot  in  the  quiet  room. 
And  as  Rand's  return  threshing  blow  sought  him 
he  sprang  away,  laughing. 

**For  calling  me  Greaser,"  he  cried  lightly. 
"When  I  have  said  out  loud  that  I  am  Ramon 
Garcia." 

Bellowing  curses  Rand  charged  at  him  again. 
Garcia  avoided  and  seemed  to  have  no  difficulty 
whatever  in  so  doing. 

"Will  you  open  the  door,  senor?"  he  called  to 
a  man  standing  near  the  entrance. 

"He  wants  to  have  an  open  trail  to  run,"  jeered 
Rand.  And  again  striking  heavily  his  blow  found 
the  empty  air  and  a  second  resounding  slap  red- 
dened his  other  cheek. 

"For  calling  me  a  breed,"  taunted  Garcia,  so 
that  all  might  hear  the  words  with  the  slap  of  the 
open  hand.  "Me  who  have  the  blood  of  kings, 
blue  like  the  skies." 

The  man  standing  at  the  door  ...  it  chanced 
to  be  young  Frank  Marquette  .  .  .  obeyed  Gar- 
cia's  command  silently  and  promptly.  Rand,  his 
rage  flaring  ever  higher  as  men  drawing  chairs 
and  tables  out  of  the  way  laughed  at  him  and  as 
the  Mexican's  sallies  taunted  him,  hurled  himself 
forward  purposing  to  get  his  enemy  in  a  corner  of 
the  room.     But  at  the  best  the  trapper  was  awk- 


26  WOLF  BREED 

ward  and  Ramon  Garcia's  little  feet  in  his  little 
boots  carried  him  much  as  the  fabled  winged 
sandals  bore  the  hero  Perseus  in  his  encounter 
with  the  dragon.  Not  once  had  Rand  landed  a 
square  blow;  not  once  had  Garcia  been  where  the 
big  red  fists  looked  for  him.  And  while  Rand 
breathed  heavily,  Ramon  Garcia,  whose  soul  was 
as  deeply  steeped  in  the  dramatic  as  Pere  Mar- 
quette's in  colour,  sang  maddening  little  snatches 
of  love  songs  and  stole  swift  glances  now  and  then 
at  Ernestine  Dumont. 

From  the  beginning  it  was  clear  that  Garcia  was 
playing  with  the  other.  But  the  end,  coming 
swiftly,  was  not  what  men  had  looked  for.  A 
great  gasp  went  up  at  it,  followed  by  a  shout  of 
applause  and  a  roar  of  laughter.  Garcia  had 
tantalised  his  antagonist,  but  beyond  slapping  his 
face  twice  had  not  touched  him.  He  skipped 
about  him  like  a  French  dancing  master  and  so 
allowed  Rand  to  make  a  fool  of  himself  for  the 
moment.  Presently,  so  had  the  Mexican  engi- 
neered it,  they  were  not  five  steps  from  the  open 
door  and  the  way  was  clear.  One  instant  he  had 
seemed  about  to  draw  back  again,  to  avoid  Rand 
as  he  had  avoided  him  so  many  times. 

"You  little  monkey-man  I"  Rand  was  shouting 
at  him.    "Stand  still  and  .  .  ." 

That  was  all  that  he  said.  Garcia  had  leaped 
forward;   his  two   gloved  hands  had  sped  like 


UNDER  THE  CLOAK  27 

lightning  to  Rand's  wrists,  he  had  seized  the  big- 
ger man  and  had  pushed  him  backward,  had  sud- 
enly  whirled  him  about,  with  a  bunching  of 
strength  which  men  had  not  guessed  was  in  him  he 
had  thrown  Rand  out  through  the  open  door,  and 
as  the  trapper  plunged  forward  into  the  muddy 
road  the  Mexican  lifted  his  foot  and  kicked. 

"For  calling  me  dago!"  smiled  Garcia.  "Me, 
whose  blood  is  of  Castile."  He  stripped  off  his 
gloves  and  tossed  them  into  the  road.  "They  are 
spoil!     Bah.     Pig!" 

Rand  was  back  at  the  threshold,  his  face  blood 
red,  his  hands  dripping  the  mud  from  the  slushy 
road.  But  young  Frank  Marquette  had  stepped 
out  to  meet  him  and  had  closed  the  door. 

For  a  little  all  eyes  in  the  room  rested  intent 
upon  Ramon  Garcia.  The  first  estimate,  founded 
upon  dandified  clothes  and  manner,  had  changed 
swiftly.  He  was  a  man  even  though  he  wore 
gloves  and  was  overfond  of  posing.  Even  though 
everything  he  did  was  overdone,  whether  it  be  the 
bowing  over  an  old  Frenchman's  hand,  the  wide 
sweep  of  his  hat  in  a  flourish  of  slow  gracefulness, 
the  tender  love  making  to  a  woman  for  whom  he 
did  not  care  the  snap  of  his  little  white  fingers, 
upon  occasion  his  soft  eyes  knew  how  to  grow  keen 
and  hard  and  he  carried  himself  with  the  assur- 
ance of  fearlessness.  It  was  as  though  he  had 
worn  a  lace  cloak  over  a  capable,  muscled  body; 


28  WOLF  BREED 

as  though  the  cloak  had  been  blown  aside  by  a 
sudden  gust  and  men  had  seen  the  true  man  under- 
neath. 

In  Kootanie  George's  eyes  where  there  had 
come  to  be  a  widening  of  slow  astonishment  dur- 
ing the  brief  struggle  now  was  a  dawning  admi- 
ration. He  put  out  his  great  hand  as  he  shambled 
forward. 

"I  called  you  Greaser,  too,"  he  said  heavily. 
*'I  take  it  back,  Garcia.  YouVe  a  white  man. 
Shake." 

Garcia  took  his  hand  readily,  laughing. 

"And  you,  sefior,  whom  I  thought  a  clown  are 
a  gentleman,"  he  answered,  a  trifle  of  impudence 
in  the  gaze  which  swept  the  big  man  from  head 
to  heel.  Kootanie  grinned  a  bit,  passed  over  the 
innuendo  in  silence  and  went  back  to  his  chair. 
Garcia,  giving  an  added  twist  of  fierceness  to  his 
mustaches,  returned  to  his  dice  game. 

For  a  little  Dave  Drennen  had  been  forgotten. 
Now  he  was  remembered.  His  appearance  here 
to-night  provoked  interest  for  two  reasons.  For 
one  thing  he  had  packed  off  on  a  lonely  prospect- 
ing trip  two  weeks  before,  impatient  at  the  de- 
layed thaw,  unwilling  to  wait  until  the  trails  were 
open  enough  for  a  man  to  travel  off  the  beaten 
route.  For  another  thing  one  never  sought  Dave 
Drennen  where  other  men  drew  together  as  they 
h?.d  congregated  now.     If  under  that  hard  ex- 


UNDER  THE  CLOAK  29 

tcrior  he  felt  any  of  the  emotions  which  other  men 
feel,  if  he  had  his  joys  and  his  griefs,  he  chose 
to  experience  them  alone.  Consequently  the  mere 
fact  of  his  appearance  here  now  brought  a  flicker 
of  curious  Interest  with  it.  Unless  he  had  a  quar- 
rel with  some  man  in  the  Frenchman's  house,  what 
had  brought  him? 

"M'sieu,"  Pere  Marquette  was  saying  the  worn 
phrase,  "you  do  me  an*  Mamma  Jeanne  the 
honour  I     You  are  welcome,  m'sieul" 

With  the  usual  phrase  came  the  customary  of- 
fering. Drennen  caught  the  glass  from  Mar- 
quette's hand  and  drank  swiftly.  The  glass  he 
set  on  the  counter,  putting  down  a  coin  with  It. 

^'There's  your  money,  old  man,"  he  said  short- 
ly.    **Give  me  my  change." 

*'But,  m'sleu,"  smiled  Pere  Marquette,  pushing 
the  money  back  toward  his  latest  guest,  "one  does 
not  pay  to-night  I     It  is  fifty  year  .  .  ." 

"I  pay  my  way  wherever  I  go,"  cut  in  Dren- 
nen curtly.     "Will  you  give  me  my  change?" 

Marquette  lifted  his  two  hands  helplessly. 
Never  had  a  man  paid  for  drink  upon  such  an 
occasion,  and  this  was  the  fiftieth  I  And  yet  never 
before  had  Drennen  come,  and  there  must  be  no 
trouble  to-night.  With  a  little  sigh  the  old  man 
took  up  the  money,  fumbled  in  his  pockets  and 
laid  down  the  change.  Drennen  took  it  up  with- 
out  a   word   and   without   counting  and   strode 


30  WOLF  BREED 

through  the  room  to  the  table  where  Ramon 
Garcia  sat,  the  one  table  where  men  were  throw- 
ing dice.  He  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  down,  his 
hat  brought  forward  over  his  eyes. 

When  the  last  man  to  throw  had  rattled  and 
rolled  the  dice  across  the  table  top  the  cup  sat 
at  Drennen's  right  hand.  He  took  it  up,  asking 
no  question,  saw  what  the  bet  was  which  they 
were  making,  put  his  own  money  in  front  of  him 
and  threw.  He  was  in  the  game.  And  no  man 
living  in  MacLeod's  Settlement  had  ever  known 
Dave  Drennen  to  sit  into  any  sort  of  game  until 
now. 

'^TiensF*  whispered  a  dried  up  little  fellow  who 
had  come  down  the  river  from  Moosejaw  during 
the  afternoon.  *'There  shall  be  fon,  mes  enfants! 
One  day  I  see  heem  play  la  roulette  in  the  place  of 
Antoine  Duart'.  There  shall  be  fon,  mes  enfants! 
Sacre  nom  de  dieu,^'  and  he  rubbed  his  hands  in 
the  keenness  of  his  anticipation,  "he  play  like  me 
when  I  am  yo'ng.** 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   LUCK  OF  NO-LUCK  DRENNEN 

DRENNEN'S  entrance  Into  the  game,  In- 
formal as  it  had  been,  elicited  no  comment 
from  the  other  players.  He  had  made  his  little 
stack  of  silver  in  front  of  him,  coins  of  the  States. 
There  was  other  American  money  staked,  jingling 
fraternally  against  pieces  struck  in  the  Canadian 
mint.  Even  a  few  pesos  had  found  their  way 
from  Garcia's  pockets  and  were  accepted  without 
challenge. 

For  fifteen  minutes  the  game  was  quiet  and  slow 
enough.  Then  at  a  smiling  suggestion  from  the 
Mexican  the  original  bet  was  doubled.  It  was 
poker  dice  now,  having  begun  as  razzle  dazzle. 
There  were  no  horses  since  horses  delayed  mat- 
ters. Beside  Drennen  and  Garcia  there  were 
five  other  men  playing.  The  Mexican  when  he 
suggested  doubled  stakes  was  losing.  Then  his 
fortunes  began  to  mend.  The  man  across  the 
table  from  him,  cleaned  out  of  his  few  dollars, 
got  up  and  went  to  watch  the  game  of  solo.  Quite 
steadily  for  a  little  Garcia  won.     He  sang  his 

31 


32  WOLF  BREED 

fragments  of  love  songs  and  between  throws  made 
eyes  at  Ernestine  Dumont.  Drennen  frowned  at 
him,  both  for  his  singing  and  for  his  love  making. 
Garcia  continued  to  win  and  to  sing. 

Drennen  lost  as  steadily  as  Garcia  won.  "No- 
luck"  his  nickname  was — *'No-luck"  the  goddess 
at  his  elbow  to-night.  Without  speaking,  when 
the  dice  cup  came  around  to  him,  he  doubled  the 
already  doubled  stakes.  One  other  man,  shak- 
ing his  head,  silently  drew  out  of  the  game.  The 
others  accepted  the  challenge  as  it  had  been  given, 
in  silence.  Garcia,  with  every  air  of  confidence, 
turned  out  the  high  throw  and  fingered  his  win- 
nings smilingly.  Drennen's  hand  sought  his 
pocket. 

"Double  again?"  he  asked  bluntly,  his  hard 
grey  eyes  upon  the  Mexican. 

Ramon  Garcia  laughed. 

"As  you  will,  senor,"  he  said  lightly.  And  un- 
der his  breath,  musically,  his  eyes  going  to  the' 
nook  by  the  fireplace,  ^^Diosf  It  is  sweet  to  be 
young  and  to  love  I" 

Drennen's  hand  brought  from  his  pocket  a  can- 
vas bag  heavy  with  gold.  There  was  a  goodly 
pile  of  money  in  front  of  the  Mexican.  The 
stakes  were  doubling  fast,  the  two  evidently  meant 
business,  and  when  the  dice  rolled  again  they  were 
playing  alone  and  a  little  knot  of  men  was  watch- 
ing. 


THE  LUCK  OF  NO-LUCK  DRENNEN     33 

*Tou  shall  see,"  chuckled  the  dried-up  little 
man  from  Moosejaw. 

Ernestine  Dumont  was  whispering  in  Kootanie 
George's  ear.  From  the  mesh  bag  at  her  wrist 
she  took  something,  offering  it  to  him  eagerly. 
George  stared  at  her  and  then  shook  his  head. 

"Keep  it,"  he  muttered.     "I  don't  need  it." 

He  didn't  look  at  the  hand  which  was  being 
dealt  him  but  left  his  table  and  went  across  the 
room  to  where  Drennen  and  Ramon  Garcia  were 
sitting,  carrying  with  him  the  money  he  had  had 
before  him.  As  he  went  he  thrust  his  big  hand 
down  into  his  pocket  and  as  he  slumped  heavily 
into  a  chair  opposite  Drennen  he  brought  out  an- 
other canvas  bag.  It  too  struck  heavily  against 
the  table  top.  Drennen  did  not  look  at  him. 
Garcia  smiled  and  nodded  brightly,  and  in  turn, 
dropped  to  the  table  his  purse,  heavy  like  the 
others  and  giving  forth  the  musical  metallic  chink. 

"Ah!  But  this  is  pretty!"  murmured  Pere 
Marquette,  glad  at  once  to  see  peace  and  a  game 
which  would  interest  his  guests.  **Jules,  bring 
more  wine,  plenty.    Make  the  fires  up,  big." 

"How  big  are  you  bettin'  'em?"  Kootanie 
George  demanded  as  he  emptied  his  canvas  bag 
and  piled  several  hundred  dollars  in  neat  yellow 
stacks. 

Garcia  lifted  his  shoulders,  showed  his  fine 
white  teeth  pleasantly  and  looked  to  Drennen. 


34  WOLF  BREED 

"As  big  as  you  like,"  retorted  Drennen  crisply. 
And  then,  lifting  his  voice  a  little,  "Marquette  I'* 

*'Oui,  m'sieu."  Marquette  came  quickly  to  the 
table. 

"I  want  some  money  .  .  .  for  this." 

Then  Drennen  spilled  the  contents  of  his  bag 
upon  the  table  and  for  a  moment  every  man  who 
saw  sat  or  stood  riveted  to  his  place,  absolutely 
without  motion.  Then  a  gasp  went  up,  a  gasp 
of  wonder,  while  here  and  there  a  quick  spurt  of 
blood  in  the  face  or  a  brilliant  gleam  of  the  eye 
told  of  quickened  heart  beats  and  the  grip  of  that 
excitement  which  man  never  lived  who  could  fight 
down  altogether.  Drennen  had  turned  out  upon 
the  table  top  a  veritable  cascade  of  nuggets. 

"Gold!" 

The  word  sped  about  the  room,  whispered, 
booming  loudly,  creating  a  sudden  tense  eager- 
ness. Men  shoved  at  one  another,  craning  necks, 
to  peer  at  the  thing  which  Drennen  so  coolly  had 
disclosed.  Gold  I  Nuggets  that  were,  in  the  par- 
lance of  the  camp,  "rotten"  with  gold.  Drennen 
two  weeks  ago  had  left  the  Settlement  with  his  last 
cent  gone  in  a  meagre  grub  stake;  now  he  was 
back  and  he  had  made  a  strike.  A  strike  such  as 
no  man  here  had  ever  dropped  his  pick  into  in 
all  of  the  ragged  years  of  adventuresome  search; 
a  strike  which  could  not  be  a  week's  walk  from 
MacLeod's,  a  strike  which  might  mean  millions 


THE  LUCK  OF  NO-LUCK  DRENNEN     35 

to   the    first   few  who   would   stake   out   claims. 

Pere  Marquette  stared  and  muttered  strange, 
awestruck  French  oaths  and  made  no  move  to  un- 
clasp his  hands,  lifted  before  him  in  an  attitude 
incongruously  like  that  of  prayer.  Kootanie 
George,  whom  men  called  rich  and  who  owned  a 
claim  for  which  two  companies  were  contending, 
stared  and  a  little  pallor  crept  Into  his  cheeks. 
Ramon  Garcia  broke  off  in  the  midst  of  his  little 
song,  softly  whispering,  '* Jesus  MariaJ*  No-luck 
Drennen  had  found  gold ! 

**Well?"  demanded  Drennen  savagely,  swing- 
ing about  upon  Marquette,  who  was  bending  trem- 
ulously over  him.    ^'Didn't  you  hear  me?'* 

*'Mais  out,  w!sieuy  Marquette  said  hastily,  his 
tongue  running  back  and  forth  between  his  lips. 
"But,  m'sieu,  I  have  not  so  much  money  In  the 
house.'' 

The  men  who  had  surged  about  the  table 
dropped  back  silently  and  began  speaking  In  half 
whispers,  each  man  after  a  moment  seeking  for 
his  *'pardner."  One  of  them  upon  such  a  quest 
carried  the  word  across  the  street  to  the  ware- 
house and  the  dance  came  to  an  end  in  noisy  con- 
fusion. .  .  .  To-night  the  Settlement  was  filled  to 
overflowing;  to-morrow  it  would  be  deserted. 

"Give  me  what  you've  got,"  Drennen  com- 
manded, his  hand  lying  very  still  by  the  heap  of 
dull-gleaming  rock.     "Bring  the  scales  here.'* 


36  WOLF  BREED 

The  scales  were  brought,  and  after  a  mixture  of 
guessing  and  weighing,  Drennen  pushed  two  of 
the  nuggets  across  the  table  to  Marquette  and  ac- 
cepted minted  gold  amounting  to  six  hundred  dol- 
lars. 

"The  rest,  m'sieu?"  offered  Marquette.  "Shall 
I  put  it  in  the  safe  for  you?" 

"No,  thanks,"  said  Drennen  drily,  as  he  put  the 
remainder  into  his  pocket.  "I  prefer  to  bank  for 
myself."  The  brief  words,  the  insult  of  the  glance 
which  went  with  them,  whipped  a  flush  into  the 
old  man's  cheeks.  He  offered  no  remark,  how- 
ever, and  went  back  with  his  scales  to  the  counter 
where  he  was  surrounded  by  men  who  wanted  the 
"feel"  of  the  nuggets  in  their  palms. 

No  longer  was  Ernestine  the  only  woman  in 
the  rooms.  Flush-cheeked  and  sparkling  eyed, 
old  women  and  young,  alike  impressed  with  the 
story  which  in  its  many  forms  was  already  going 
its  rounds,  came  trooping  back  from  the  dance. 
Many  hands  at  once  reached  out  for  the  two  nug- 
gets, tongues  clacked  incessantly,  while  old  pros- 
pectors and  young  girls  alike  ventured  their  sur- 
mises concerning  the  location  of  the  strike.  It  was 
to  be  noted  that  no  one  had  asked  the  only  man 
who  knew. 

No-luck  Drennen's  luck  had  come  to  him.  That 
was  the  word  which  again  ran  through  the  babel 
of  conjectures.     And  when  a  man  has  had  the 


THE  LUCK  OF  NO-LUCK  DRENNEN     37 

luck  which  had  been  Drennen's  for  the  years  which 
the  North  had  known  him,  and  that  luck  changed, 
the  change  would  be  sweeping.  Men  might  fol- 
low in  his  wake  to  a  path  of  gold. 

Meanwhile  Dave  Drennen  played  his  game  of 
dice  in  sombre  silence.  Over  and  over,  losing  al- 
most steadily,  he  named  a  larger  wager  and  Gar- 
cia and  Kootanle  George  met  his  offer.  He  bet 
fifty  dollars  and  lost,  a  hundred  and  lost,  two 
hundred  on  a  single  cast  and  lost.  In  three 
throws  over  half  of  his  money  was  gone.  Three 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars;  he  had  two  hundred 
and  fifty  left  to  him.  Twice  had  the  Mexican 
won ;  once  George,  taking  In  the  two-hundred  dol- 
lar bet.  George's  face  was  flushed;  he  had  won 
four  hundred  dollars  at  one  throw  since  the  Mex- 
ican's two  hundred  had  come  to  him  with  Dren- 
nen's.  George  had  never  played  dice  like  this 
and  the  madness  of  it  got  into  his  slow  blood  and 
stood  glaring  out  of  his  eyes. 

*'Two  hundred  fifty,"  offered  Drennen  briefly. 
He  shoved  the  last  of  his  pile  out  on  the  table. 
George  covered  it  quickly,  his  big,  square  fingers 
shaking. 

Garcia  smiled  at  them  both,  then  transferred 
his  smile  to  his  own  money.  In  two  throws  he 
had  won  three  hundred  dollars.  In  one  he  had  lost 
two  hundred.  He  seemed  to  hesitate  a  moment; 
then  he  saw  Ernestine  Dumont  standing  upon  a 


38  WOLF  BREED 

deserted  card  table,  her  cheeks  rosy  with  excite- 
ment, and  the  sight  of  her  decided  him.  He 
sighed,  raked  his  money  from  the  table  to  his 
pocket  and  got  to  his  feet,  moving  gracefully 
through  the  crowd  with  many,  ^^Dispensame, 
senor/^  and  went  to  Ernestine's  side.  Kootanle 
George  did  not  mark  his  going.  For  it  was  Koo- 
tanle George's  throw  and  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  were  to  be  won  ...  or  lost. 

George  turned  out  the  cubes  and  a  ripping  oath 
followed  them.  He  had  thrown  a  pair  of  deuces. 
His  big  fist  came  down  upon  the  table  with  a  crash. 
Drennen  stared  at  him  a  brief  moment  while  the 
cup  was  raised  in  his  hand,  contempt  unveiled  in 
his  eyes.  Then  he  rolled  out  the  dice.  Some- 
thing akin  to  a  sob  burst  from  Kootanle  George's 
lips.  Drennen  had  turned  out  a  ''stiff,"  no  pair 
at  all. 

"It's  mine !"  cried  George,  his  great  body  half 
thrown  across  the  table  as  he  tossed  out  both  arms 
to  sweep  In  his  winnings.     "Mine,  by  God!" 

Ernestine  was  clapping  her  hands,  her  eyes 
dancing  with  joy  even  while  they  were  shot 
through  with  malice.  Drennen's  glance  went  to 
her,  came  back  to  Kootanle  George  to  rest  upon 
him  sneeringly.  Then  he  laughed,  that  ugly  laugh 
which  few  men  had  heard  and  those  few  had  re- 
membered. 

"Gold  I"  jeered  Drennen.     "It's  a  little  pinch 


THE  LUCK  OF  NO-LUCK  DRENNEN     39 

of  gold,  and  you  go  crazy  over  It  I  You  are  a 
fool." 

''It's  mine !"  cried  George  again.  He  had  won 
only  a  little  over  six  hundred  dollars  and  he 
could  have  afforded  to  have  lost  as  much.  But  he 
was  In  the  grip  of  the  passion  of  the  game. 

*TouVe  got  about  a  thousand  dollars  there," 
said  Drennen  eyeing  the  jumble  of  coins  In  front 
of  the  big  Canadian.  He  jerked  the  old  canvas 
bag  out  of  his  pocket  and  let  It  fall  heavily  to  the 
table.  "One  throw  for  the  whole  thing,  mine 
against  yours." 

Kootanle  George  knew  gold  when  he  saw  It  and 
now  he  knew  that  there  was  nearer  two  thousand 
than  one  In  that  bag.  He  gripped  the  dice  box, 
glared  at  Drennen  angrily,  hesitated,  then  with  a 
sudden  gesture  turned  out  the  dice. 

He  had  cursed  before  when  he  had  made  his 
throw;  now  he  just  slumped  forward  a  little  In  his 
chair,  his  jaw  dropping,  the  color  dribbling  out  of 
his  cheeks,  finding  all  words  Inadequate.  He  had 
thrown  two  deuces  again.  Again  Drennen  looked 
at  him  contemptuously.  Again  George  heard  his 
ugly  laugh.  Drennen  threw  his  dice  carelessly. 
And  upon  the  table,  between  the  canvas  bag  and 
the  glitter  of  minted  gold,  there  stared  up  Into 
George's  face  five  fives. 

"Damn  you,"  cried  the  Canadian  hoarsely,  his 
fingers  hooked  and  standing  apart  like  claws  as 


40  WOLF  BREED 

he   half   rose   from   his   chair.      "Damn    you  I" 

His  nerves  were  strung  high  and  tense  and  the 
words  came  from  him  involuntarily.  They  were 
the  clean  words  of  rage  at  which  no  man  in  the 
world  could  take  offence  unless  he  sought  a  quar- 
rel. And  yet  Drennen,  as  he  moved  forward  a 
little  to  draw  his  winnings  toward  him,  thrust  his 
face  close  up  to  Kootanie  George's  and  said 
crisply : 

"Say  that  again  and  I'll  slap  your  face  I" 

"Damn  you  I"  shouted  George. 

And  with  the  words  came  the  blow,  Drennen's 
open  palm  hard  against  George's  cheek. 

"And  now  George  will  kill  him!"  cried  Ernes- 
tine through  her  set  teeth. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  WAY  OF  THE  NORTH 

OH,  mon  Dieul  Mon  Dieu!'*  half  sobbed 
old  Marquette.  *'They  will  kill  one  the 
other  I  Another  time  it  matters  not.  But  to- 
night, here!  .  .  .  Stop;  I  forbid  it  I" 

One  blow  had  been  struck  and  already  the 
compact  circle  about  the  two  men  had  squared  as 
those  who  watched  drew  back  along  the  walls 
leaving  the  centre  of  the  room  clear.  They  had 
jerked  tables  and  chairs  away  with  them.  One 
table,  the  one  at  which  Drennen  and  George  had 
sat  a  moment  ago,  with  its  load  of  virgin  gold 
and  minted  coins,  was  now  against  the  further 
counter,  young  Frank  Marquette  guarding  it,  that 
the  gold  upon  it  might  go  to  Drennen  when  the 
fight  was  over.  .  .  . 

*'If  he  is  alive  then,"  he  muttered,  his  £yes  nar- 
rowing as  they  took  note  of  the  black  rage  dis- 
torting the  big  Canadian's  face.  "If  George  does 
not  kill  him  it  is  a  miracle  of  Satan." 

"You  are  come  to-night  for  trouble."  Slowly 
Kootanic  George  slipped  his  heavy  'coat  from  his 

41 


42  WOLF  BREED 

shoulders.  His  deep,  hairy  chest,  swelling  to  the 
breath  which  fairly  whistled  through  his  dis- 
tended nostrils,  popped  a  button  back  through  a 
frayed  button  hole  and  stood  out  like  an  inflated 
bellows.  *'I  just  say,  'Damn  you.'  That  is  nothin' 
for  a  man  to  fight.  You  look  for  trouble,  an'  by 
God,  I  am  ready  I" 

He  flung  the  coat  from  him  and  lifted  his 
big  hands.  Drennen  was  standing  waiting  for 
him,  his  own  hands  at  his  sides,  his  steely  eyes 
filled  with  an  evil  light.  He  made  no  answer  be- 
yond the  silent  one  of  a  slight  lifting  of  his  lip, 
like  a  soundless  wolfish  snarl. 

*'I  forbid  I"  screamed  Pere  Marquette  again. 
"Another  time  it  is  nothing.  To-night  it  is  to 
insult  Mamma  Jeanne.     Stop  It,  chiensf" 

But  Mamma  Jeanne  had  her  own  word  to  say. 
Her  plump  arms  were  about  her  indignant  spouse, 
dragging  him  back. 

"Let  them  be,"  she  commanded.  "Is  not 
George  a  guest  and  has  he  not  the  right  to  put 
his  heel  upon  an  evil  serpent?  It  is  just,"  she 
cried,  her  eyes  all  fire.  "It  will  be  but  a  little 
minute  and,  pouff  it  is  all  over.  Let  them 
be  I" 

She  had  great  faith  in  the  prowess  of  her  man, 
had  Mere  Marquette.  Had  there  been  a  thunder 
storm  outside,  had  Pere  Marquette  wished  it  to 
stop  while  Mere  Marquette  wanted  it  to  continue, 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  NORTH        43 

she  would  have  put  her  arms  about  him  and 
pleaded,  "Let  it  be." 

*'There  shall  be  fon,  mes  enfants/^  whispered 
the  old  prophet  from  Moosejaw. 

Slowly,  but  light  footed  enough,  lifting  his 
great  hands  still  a  little  higher,  Kootanie  George 
came  forward.  Drennen  waited,  his  lip  raised  in 
the  bitter  snarl  which  seemed  frozen  upon  his 
dark  face,  his  grey  eyes  malevolent.  He  had 
fought  with  many  men,  he  was  not  afraid  to  fight; 
all  men  there  knew  that.  But  they  wondered, 
looking  at  him  and  then  at  the  other,  if  he  under- 
stood the  thing  standing  unhidden  in  Kootanie 
George's  eyes. 

Yes,  he  understood.  For,  just  the  wee  fraction 
of  a  second  before  the  Canadian  struck,  Drennen 
jerked  up  his  own  hands,  ready  for  him.  And  the 
two  struck  at  the  same  instant.  There  was  to  be 
no  finesse  of  boxing;  these  men  had  no  knowledge 
of  fistic  trickery.  All  that  they  knew  was  to  fight, 
to  strike  hard  and  straight  from  the  shoulder, 
opposing  strength  with  strength,  swiftness  with 
swiftness,  merciless  hatred  with  a  hatred  as  merci- 
less. And  so  it  happened  that  both  blows  landed, 
two  little  coughing  grunts  following  close  upon 
the  impact  telling  how  "tnlghtlly,  and  both  men 
reeled  back.  There  was  blood  upon  Drennen's 
lower  lip.  The  upper  was  still  lifted  snarlingly 
from  the  red-stained  teeth. 


44  WOLF  BREED 

Ramon  Garcia,  watching  with  an  Interested 
smile,  nodded  his  head  as  though  In  approval  and 
glanced  at  Ernestine  Dumont  upon  the  table  above 
him.  Much  of  the  colour  had  gone  out  of  her 
cheeks,  leaving  them  drawn  and  pallid.  Her 
parted  lips  too  showed  the  whiteness  of  her  hard 
set  teeth. 

*'I,"  meditated  Ramon  Garcia  as  his  eyes  re- 
turned to  the  two  men,  "I  should  be  less  fright- 
ened of  George  than  of  her.  Her  eyes  are  like 
a  devil." 

A  bare  fisted,  relentless,  give  and  take  fight  such 
as  this  promised  to  be  Is  common  enough  wher- 
ever hard  men  foregather,  dirt-common  in  a  coun- 
try where  the  fag  end  of  a  long  winter  of  enforced 
Idleness  leaves  restless  nerves  raw.  The  uncom- 
mon thing  about  the  brief  battle  or  In  any  way 
connected  with  It  lay  in  the  attitude  of  the  onlook- 
ers. Rarely  is  a  crowd  so  unanimous  both  in 
expectation  and  desire.  George  would  kill  Dren- 
nen  or  would  nearly  kill  him,  and  It  would  be  a 
good  thing.  A  man  of  no  friends,  Drennen  had 
no  sympathiser.  No  man  who  watched  with  nar- 
rowed eyes,  no  woman  on  table  or  chair  or  hiding 
her  face  In  her  hands,  but  asked  and  looked  for 
the  same  ending. 

Though  from  the  first  it  was  apparent  that 
George  was  the  bigger  man,  the  heavier,  the 
stronger,  it  was  silently  conceded  that  these  qual- 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  NORTH        45 

ities  though  they  mean  much  do  not  count  for 
everything.  It  became  clear  almost  as  they  met 
for  the  first  blows  that  the  slenderer  was  quicker 
and  that  if  Kootanie  George  was  confident  Dren- 
nen  was  no  less  so.  And,  when  they  both  reeled 
backward,  a  many-voiced  murmur  of  surprise  was 
like  a  reluctant  admission :  Drennen  had  done  two 
things  which  no  other  man  had  ever  done  before 
him;  he  had  kept  his  feet  against  the  smashing 
drive  of  that  big  fist  in  his  face  and  he  had  made 
George  stagger.  For  the  moment  it  looked  as 
though  the  two  would  fall. 

Once  more  George  came  forward  slowly  while 
Drennen  waited  for  him,  again  they  met,  Dren- 
nen leaping  forward  just  as  the  Canadian's  sledge 
of  a  clenched  hand  was  lifted.  Each  man  threw 
up  a  guarding  left  arm  only  to  have  his  brawny 
guard  beaten  through  a3  again  the  two  resounding 
blows  landed  almost  like  one ;  this  time  there  was 
a  trickle  of  red  from  the  Canadian's  mouth,  a 
panting,  wheezing  cough  from  the  American  as 
he  received  the  other's  blow  full  in  the  chest. 
For  a  dizzy  moment  they  stood  separated  by  the 
very  fury  of  their  onslaught,  each  balancing. 

"They  are  men!"  murmured  Garcia  in  de- 
light. And  Ernestine,  leaning  far  out  from  her 
table,  cried  breathlessly: 

"George  I     If  you  love  mc  .  .  ." 

George  glanced  at  her,  a  slow  smile  upon  his 


46  WOLF  BREED 

battered  lips.  He  ran  the  back  of  his  hand  across 
his  mouth  and  again  moved  forward,  slowly.  And 
again  Drennen  snarling,  awaited  him. 

This  time  George  crouched  a  little  as  he  made 
his  attack,  and  as  he  drew  closer  he  moved  more 
swiftly,  bunching  his  big  muscles,  fairly  hurling 
his  great  body  as  he  leaped  and  struck,  reckless  of 
what  blows  might  find  him,  determined  by  his 
superior  weight  alone  to  carry  the  other  back  and 
down.  And  as  though  Drennen  had  read  the 
purpose  in  the  smouldering  eyes  he  too  leaped  for- 
ward so  that  the  two  big  bodies  met  in  mid  air. 
Like  one  blow  came  the  sounds  of  the  two  blows 
given  and  taken  as  the  impact  of  the  two  bodies 
gave  out  its  soft  thud.  And  as  one  man  the  two 
went  down  together,  fighting,  beating  brutally  at 
each  other,  all  rules  of  the  game  forgotten  save 
that  one  alone  which  says,  "He  wins  who  wins!" 

For  a  little  they  clenched  and  rolled  upon  the 
floor  like  two  great,  grim  cats.  Through  the 
sound  of  scuffling  came  the  noise  of  short-armed 
jabs,  the  deep  throated  curses  of  Kootanie  George 
and  once  ...  his  first  vocal  utterance  .  .  .  one 
of  Dave  Drennen's  laughs.  It  was  when  he  had 
again  driven  his  fist  against  George's  mouth, 
drawing  blood  from  both  lips  and  hand  cut  by 
breaking  teeth. 

Kootanie  George's  left  arm  was  flung  about  the 
neck  of  the  man  at  whose  body  his  white  knuckled 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  NORTH        47 

fist  was  driving  like  a  piston;  the  American  had 
craned  his  neck  and  in  order  to  protect  his  face 
held  it  pressed  close  to  George's  breast.  Dren- 
nen's  right  arm  was  about  George's  body,  caught 
against  the  floor  as  they  fell,  Drennen's  left  hand 
with  thumb  sunken  deep  was  already  at  the  Cana- 
dian's throat.  The  snarl  upon  Drennen's  face 
was  the  more  marked  now,  more  filled  with  men- 
ace and  hate  as  his  body  experienced  the  torture 
of  the  other's  regular  blows. 

For  a  little  they  were  strangely  silent,  Kootanie 
having  given  over  his  ripping  oaths,  strangely 
quiet  as  they  lay  with  no  movement  apparent  be- 
yond the  ceaseless  rhythmic  striking  of  George's 
arm.  Even  those  blows  ceased  in  a  moment  as 
George's  hand  went  hurriedly  to  the  wrist  at  his 
breast.  The  thumb  at  his  throat  had  sunk  until 
the  place  where  it  crooked  at  the  joint  was  lost; 
George's  face  from  red  had  gone  to  white,  then 
to  a  hectic  purple.  Now  they  strove  for  the  mas- 
tery of  the  hand  at  the  throat,  George  dragging 
at  it  mightily,  Drennen's  fingers  crooked  like  tal- 
ons with  the  tendons  standing  out  so  that  they 
seemed  white  cords  in  the  lamplight.  George's 
breath  came  in  short,  shorter  gasps,  he  tugged 
with  swelling  muscles,  his  own  hand  a  terrible 
wrenching  vice  at  Drennen's  wrist.  And  when  the 
purple  face  grew  more  hideously  purple,  when  the 
short  gasps  were  little  dry  sounds,  speaking  pite- 


48  WOLF  BREED 

ously  of  agony  and  suffocation,  when  still  the  re- 
lentless grip  at  his  throat  was  unshaken,  men  be- 
gan for  the  first  time  to  guage  the  strength  which 
lay  in  the  great,  gaunt  frame  of  Dave  Drennen. 

And  George  too  had  begun  to  understand. 
Suddenly  his  hand  came  away  from  the  iron  wrist 
and  sought  Drennen's  throat  for  which  his  wide 
bulging  eyes  quested  frantically.  His  hand  found 
what  it  sought  at  last,  but  Drennen  had  twisted 
his  head  still  a  little  further  to  the  side,  brought 
his  face  still  lower  and  closer  against  the  Cana- 
dian's chest,  and  George  could  not  get  the  grip 
where  he  wanted  it,  full  upon  the  front  of  the 
throat.  He  tore  at  the  rigid  muscles  below  the 
jaw  a  moment  and  the  bloody,  broken  skin  of 
Drennen's  neck  told  with  what  fury  George  had 
striven. 

But  George  must  hasten  now  and  he  knew  It. 
Again  his  right  hand  sought  Drennen's  left,  fought 
at  the  deadly  grip  at  his  own  throat.  In  his  reach 
a  quick  cunning  came  to  him  and  his  groping  fin- 
gers passed  along  Drennen's  wrist  and  did  not 
tarry  there.  Up  and  up  they  went,  the  great 
questing  fingers  of  the  Canadian,  until  at  last  they 
found  the  fingers  of  the  other  man.  Here  they 
settled.  And  then  those  who  watched  saw  the 
middle  finger  of  Drennen's  hand  drawn  back  from 
the  flesh  of  George's  neck,  saw  it  bent  back  and 
back,  still  further  back  until  it  was  a  pure  wonder 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  NORTH        49 

that  Drennen  held  on,  back  and  back.  .  .  .  And 
then  there  was  a  little  snap  of  a  bone  broken  and 
Drennen's  hand  fell  away  and  Kootanle  George, 
drawing  a  long,  sobbing  breath,  rolled  clear  of 
him  and  slowly  rose  to  his  feet. 

Drennen  too  rose  but  not  so  slowly.  His  left 
hand  was  at  his  side,  the  one  broken  finger  stand- 
ing oddly  apart  from  Its  fellows,  as  he  ran  the 
three  steps  to  meet  Kootanle  George.  George 
threw  up  his  arm,  but  the  savagery  of  the  blow 
beating  upon  him  struck  the  guard  aside  and 
Kootanle  George,  caught  fairly  upon  the  chin 
flung  out  his  arms  and  went  down.  He  brushed 
against  the  wall  behind  him  in  falling  and  so  came 
only  to  his  knees  on  the  floor,  his  hands  out  before 
him.  Drennen  stood  over  him,  breathing  deeply, 
gathering  his  strength  for  a  last  effort.  George 
staggered  perceptibly  as  he  got  to  his  feet,  a  queer 
look  in  his  eyes.  Drennen  struck  swiftly,  his  fist 
grinding  into  the  pit  of  Kootanle's  stomach  and, 
as  the  big  man  crumpled,  finding  his  chin  again. 
And  as  George  staggered  a  second  time  Drennen 
was  upon  him,  Drennen's  laugh  like  the  snarl  of 
a  wolf,  Drennen's  hand,  the  right  this  time,  at 
George's  throat.  .  .  . 

A  thin  scream  from  Ernestine  Dumont  quiv- 
ering with  a  strange  blend  of  emotions,  a  spit  of 
flame,  a  puff  of  smoke  hanging  idly  in  the  still  air 
of  the  room,  the  sharp  bark  of  a  small  calibre  re- 


50  WOLF  BREED 

volver,  and  Drennen's  hand  dropped  from  Koo- 
tanie^s  throat.  He  swayed  unsteadily  a  moment, 
stepped  toward  her,  his  eyes  flecked  with  red  and 
brimming  with  rage,  his  hand  going  to  the  wound 
in  his  side. 

"Cat,"  said  Drennen  deliberately. 

As  he  fell  back,  a  sudden  weakness  upon  him, 
settling  unsteadily  into  a  chair,  Ramon  Garcia 
struck  up  the  barrel  of  the  smoking  gun  In  Ernes- 
tine's hand  and  the  second  bullet  ripped  into  the 
papered  ceiling.  Then  Kootanie  George  turned 
slowly,  his  eyes  full  upon  Ernestine's,  and  said  as 
Drennen  had  said  it, 

"Cat!" 

"You  are  one  big  brute!"  cried  Mere  Jeanne 
angrily.  "You,  to  call  her  that  when  she  shoot 
because  she  love  you!  I  should  do  like  that  for 
Marquette  here." 

"She  has  put  me  to  shame,  made  me  a  man  for 
men  to  laugh  at,"  said  George  heavily.  "What, 
am  I  no  man  but  a  little  baby  that  a  woman  must 
light  my  fight?    I  am  done  with  her." 

Drennen's  face  had  gone  white;  the  fingers 
gripping  his  torn  side  were  sticky  and  wet  and  red.' 
He  rose  half  way  from  his  chair  only  to  drop 
back,  the  rigid  muscles  along  his  jaw  showing  how 
the  teeth  were  hard  set.  He  had  seemed  to  forget 
Ernestine,  George,  all  of  them,  his  gaze  seeking 
and  finding  the  table  where  his  gold  lay,  then 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  NORTH        51 

lifting  to  Frank  Marquette's  face  suspiciously. 
Then  it  was  that  he  noted  and  that  others  marked 
for  the  first  time  how  again  the  outer  door  had 
opened  that  night  to  admit  tardy  guests.  A  little 
flicker  of  surprise  came  into  his  eyes,  and  small 
wonder. 

Three  persons  had  entered  before  Ernestine 
had  cried  out  and  fired  the  first  shot,  two  men  and 
a  girl.  The  men  would  come  in  for  their  share  of 
attention  later;  the  girl  demanded  hers  now,  like 
a  right  and  a  tribute.  She  stood  a  little  in  front 
of  her  companions.  Her  eyes  widened,  grow- 
ing a  little  hard  as  they  watched  the  end  of  the 
fight,  passed  from  Drennen  and  Kootanie  George 
to  Ernestine  Dumont,  came  slowly  back  to  George, 
rested  finally  upon  Drennen  as  though  their  chief 
interest  lay  with  him.  She  did  not  show  fear  as  a 
woman  of  her  appearance  might  be  looked  upon 
to  show  it;  there  were  interest  and  curiosity  in  her 
look  and,  finally,  when  after  a  long  time  she 
looked  again  from  Drennen  to  Ernestine,  a  high 
contempt. 

In  spite  of  the  heavy  white  sweater  whose  collar 
was  drawn  high  about  her  throat,  in  spite  of  the 
white  hood  concealing  all  but  one  stray  wisp  of 
brown  hair,  her  loveliness  was  unhidden,  looking 
out  in  all  of  the  splendid  glory  of  youthful  health 
and  vigour.  Her  eyes  were  as  grey  as  Drennen's 
own,  but  with  little  golden  flecks  seeming  to  float 


52  WOLF  BREED 

upon  sea-grey,  unsounded  depths.  She  might  have 
been  seventeen,  she  could  not  have  been  more  than 
twenty,  and  yet  her  air  was  one  of  confidence  and 
in  it  was  an  indefinable  something  which  was 
neither  arrogance  nor  yet  hauteur,  and  which  in 
its  subtle  way  hinted  that  the  blood  pulsing 
through  her  perfect  body  was  the  blood  of  those 
who  had  known  how  to  command  since  babyhood 
and  who  had  never  learned  to  obey.  When  later 
men  learned  that  that  blood  was  drawn  in  riotous, 
converging  currents  from  unconquerable  fighting 
Scotch  highlanders  and  from  a  long  line  of  French 
nobility  there  came  no  surprise  in  the  discovery. 
Men  and  women  together,  Kootanie  George  and 
Ernestine,  Garcia  and  Drennen,  Pere  Marquette 
and  Mere  Marquette,  felt  the  difference  between 
her  and  themselves. 

"We  seem  to  interrupt,"  she  said  coolly,  her 
voice  deeply  musical,  as  she  turned  to  Pere  Mar- 
quette. He,  looking  a  little  dazed  and  stupid  from 
all  that  had  taken  place,  but  never  forgetful  of 
his  duties  as  host,  had  come  toward  her  hesitantly, 
his  lips  seeking  to  form  a  new  phrase  of  greeting. 
*'We  are  tired  and  need  food.  Everything  seemed 
closed  but  your  place.     So  we  came  in." 

"You  are  welcome,  mam'selle,"  he  said 
hurriedly.  "Mos'  welcome.  It  is  unfortu- 
nate .  .  ." 

"Captain  Sefton,"  went  on  the  girl  quite  calmly, 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  NORTH        53 

"will  you  see  what  you  can  do  for  that  man?  He 
is  losing  a  great  deal  of  blood." 

Captain  Sefton,  a  thin,  hawk-eyed  man  with  a 
coppery  Vandyke  beard,  shrugged  his  shoulders 
distastefully  but  passed  her,  drawing  near  Dave 
Drennen.  The  girl  turned  toward  the  second  of 
her  companions,  a  younger  man  by  half  a  dozen 
years,  who  brought  the  stamp  of  the  cities  in  his 
fashionable  clothes,  the  relentless  marks  of  a 
city's  dissipation  about  his  small  mouth  and  light 
eyes  and,  in  air  and  features,  a  suggestion  of  the 
French. 

*'Marc,"  she  said,  drawing  at  her  gauntlets,  her 
back  upon  Sefton  and  Drennen,  "if  you  can 
arrange  for  a  room  for  me  I  shall  go  to  it  im- 
mediately." 

Marc  obeyed  her  as  Captain  Sefton  had  done, 
turning  to  Marquette  with  an  inquiry.  Drennen's 
eyes  were  only  for  a  fleeting  moment  upon  Sefton 
whose  quick  fingers  were  busy  at  the  wound.  Then 
they  returned  to  the  table  at  which  he  had  diced. 
Frank  Marquette,  seeing  the  look,  poured  the 
gold  all  into  the  canvas  bag  and  brought  it 
to  him. 

The  eyes  of  one  man  alone  did  not  waver  once 
while  the  girl  was  in  the  room,  black  eyes  as  ten- 
der as  a  woman's,  eloquent  now  with  admiration, 
their  glance  like  a  caress.  Ramon  Garcia  spoke 
softly,    under    his    breath.      Ernestine    Dumont 


54  WOLF  BREED 

looked  down  at  him  curiously.  She  had  not  un- 
derstood the  words  for  they  were  Spanish.  They 
had  meant, 

"Now  am  I  resigned  to  my  exile!'* 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  PROMISE  OF  A   RAINBOW 

FOR  a  week  Dave  Drennen  lay  upon  the 
bunk  in  the  one  room  dugout  which  had 
been  home  for  him  during  the  winter.  Stubborn 
and  sullen  and  silent  at  first,  snarling  his  anger  as 
sufficient  strength  came  back  into  him,  he  refused 
the  aid  which  the  Settlement,  now  keenly  solic- 
itous, offered.  He  knew  why  the  men  who  had  not 
spoken  to  him  two  weeks  ago  sought  to  befriend 
him  now.  He  knew  that  the  swift  change  of  at- 
titude was  due  to  nothing  in  the  world  but  to  a 
fear  that  he  might  die  without  disclosing  his 
golden  secret. 

**And  I  am  of  half  a  mind  to  die,'*  he  told  the 
last  man  to  trouble  him ;  "just  to  shame  Kootanie 
George,  to  hang  Ernestine  Dumont  and  to  drive 
a  hundred  gold  seekers  mad." 

During  the  week  a  boy  from  Joe's  Lunch 
Counter  brought  him  his  meals  and  gave  him  the 
scant  attention  he  demanded.  The  boy  went  away 
with  money  in  his  pockets  and  with  tales  to  tell 
of  a  man  like  a  wounded  bull  moose.     Always 

55 


56  WOLF  BREED 

there  were  eager  hands  to  detain  him,  eager 
tongues  to  ask  if  Drennen  had  let  anything  drop. 
Always  the  same  answer,  a  shake  of  the  head; 
he  had  learned  nothing. 

The  day  after  the  affair  at  Pere  Marquette's 
had  seen  MacLeod's  Settlement  empty  of  men. 
Each  one  following  his  own  hope  and  fancy  they 
had  gone  into  the  mountains,  heading  toward  the 
north  as  Drennen  had  headed  two  weeks  before, 
some  following  the  main  trail  for  a  matter  of 
many  miles,  others  breaking  off  to  right  or  to  left 
at  tempting  cross-trails,  hastening  feverishly, 
dreaming  dreams  and  finding  rude  awakenings. 
The  snows  were  melting  everywhere  upon  the 
slopes,  the  dirty  waters  running  down  the  trails 
making  an  ooze  at  midday  which  sucked  up  and 
destroyed  the  tracks  of  the  men  who  travelled 
over  it  in  the  crisp  early  mornings. 

There  was  no  sign  to  tell  whether  Drennen 
had  gone  straight  on  during  the  seven  days  he 
might  have  been  pushing  away  from  the  camp 
and  had  made  his  strike  at  the  end  of  them,  or 
whether  he  had  turned  off  somewhere  hardly 
out  of  sight  of  the  handful  of  shacks  marking 
MacLeod's  Settlement.  No  sign  to  tell  that  the 
golden  vein  or  pocket  lay  within  shouting  dis- 
tance from  the  Settlement  or  fifty,  seventy-five 
miles  removed.  And  Drennen,  lying  on  his  back 
upon  his  hard  bunk,  stared  up  at  the  blackened 


THE  PROMISE  OF  A  RAINBOW     57 

beams  across  his  ceiling  and  smiled  his  hard,  bitter 
smile  as  he  pictured  the  frantic,  fruitless  quest. 

Sefton,  the  man  with  the  coppery  Vandyke 
beard,  thin-jawed  and  with  restless  eyes,  had  given 
him  certain  rude  help  at  Marquette's  and  had 
been  among  the  first  the  following  day  to  offer 
aid.  Drennen  dismissed  him  briefly,  offering  to 
pay  for  what  he  had  already  done  but  saying  he 
had  no  futher  need  of  clumsy  fingers  fooling  with 
his  hurt.  Sefton  favoured  him  with  a  keen  scru- 
tiny from  the  door,  hesitated,  shrugged  his  thin 
shoulders  and  went  away.  Drennen  wondered  if 
the  girl,  who  seemed  in  the  habit  of  ordering  peo- 
ple around,  had  sent  him. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  Drennen  was  about 
again.  He  had  kept  his  wound  clean  wuth  the 
antiseptic  solutions  to  be  obtained  from  the  store 
and  under  its  bandages  it  was  healing.  He  found 
that  he  was  weaker  than  he  had  supposed  but 
with  a  grunt  drove  his  lax  muscles  to  stiffen  and 
obey  his  will.  From  the  door  he  came  back,  found 
a  broken  bit  of  mirror  and  looked  curiously  at  the 
face  reflected  in  it.  No  beautiful  sight,  he  told 
himself  grimly.  It  was  haggard,  drawn  and  wan. 
A  beard  three  weeks  old,  the  black  of  it  shot 
through  here  and  there  with  white  hairs,  made 
the  stern  face  uncouth. 

**I  look  a  savage,"  he  told  himself  disgustedly, 
tossing  the  glass  to  the  cluttered  table.     Then, 


158  WOLF  BREED 

with  a  grim  tightening  of  the  lips,  "And  why 
not?" 

He  made  his  way  slowly,  his  side  paining  him 
no  little,  to  Joe^s  Lunch  Counter.  It  was  late 
afternoon  and  the  street  was  deserted.  A  gleam 
of  satisfaction  showed  fleetingly  in  his  eyes;  he 
knew  why  the  street  was  deserted  and  the  knowl- 
edge pleased  him. 

None  of  the  Settlement  was  in  Joe's  restaurant, 
but  the  presence  of  the  two  strangers  who  had 
come  with  the  girl  saved  it  from  utter  desertion. 
They  were  finishing  a  light  meal  as  Drennen  en- 
tered and  looked  up  at  him  curiously.  Drennen 
saw  a  quick  glance  interchanged.  He  knew  the 
meaning  of  this,  too,  knew  that  the  story  of  his 
strike  had  gone  its  way  to  them,  that  because  of 
those  nuggets  which  even  now  weighted  his  pocket 
he  was  a  marked  man,  a  man  to  be  reckoned  with, 
to  be  watched,  to  be  followed,  to  be  fawned  upon 
if  possible.  He  frowned  at  Sefton's  nod  and  took 
his  place  at  the  lunch  counter. 

Presently  the  younger  of  the  two.  Captain 
Sefton's  companion,  got  up  and  came  to  Dren- 
nen's  side,  offering  his  hand. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  around  again,"  he  said 
pleasantly. 

Drennen  did  not  look  toward  him. 

**Some  more  coffee,  Joe,"  he  said  shortly. 

The  young  fellow  stared  at  him  a  moment,  a 


THE  PROMISE  OF  A  RAINBOW     59 

quick  retort  upon  his  lips.  It  was  checked  how- 
ever by  Sefton  saying  quickly: 

"Come  on,  Lemarc.  It's  none  of  your  funeral 
if  a  man  wants  to  be  left  alone.  Let*s  go  find 
Ygerne.'' 

Ygerne.  So  that  was  her  name,  Drennen 
thought  as  he  stirred  two  heaping  spoons  of  sugar 
into  his  coffee  and  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye 
watched  the  two  men  go  out.  Well,  what  was  the 
difference?  One  name  would  do  as  well  as  an- 
other and  she  was  an  adventuress  like  the  rest  of 
them  in  this  land  of  hard  trails.  Else  why  should 
she  be  here  at  all,  and  with  men  like  Lemarc  and 
Sefton?  Had  he  not  distrusted  all  men  by  sweep- 
ing rule  these  two  at  least  he  would  have  dis- 
trusted for  the  craft  in  their  eyes. 

He  drank  his  second  cup  of  coffee,  stuffed  his 
old  pipe  full  of  coarse  tobacco  and  went  outside. 
Sefton  and  Lemarc  had  passed  out  of  sight. 
Drennen  hesitated  just  a  second,  pausing  at  the 
door.  He  was  pitifully  weak.  He  supposed  that 
the  thing  for  him  to  do  was  to  crawl  back  to  his 
bunk  for  the  remainder  of  the  day  and  the  long 
night  to  follow.  He  clamped  his  pipe  stem  hard 
between  his  teeth.  He'd  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 
Did  strength,  any  more  than  anything  else  in  the 
world,  come  to  a  man  who  lay  on  his  back  and 
waited  for  it?    He  needed  exercise. 

So  he  strolled  down  through  the  quiet  Settle- 


6o  WOLF  BREED 

ment,  turned  into  the  trail  which  leads  upward 
along  old  Ironhead's  flank,  driving  his  body 
mercilessly  to  the  labour  of  the  climb.  There  was 
a  spot  he  knew  where  he  could  sit  and  look  down 
across  the  valley  and  from  which  far  out  some- 
where to  north  or  south  he  might  see  fools  seeking 
for  the  gold  he  had  found.  It  was  a  little  cup  set 
in  the  side  of  the  mountain,  a  tiny  valley  at  once 
beautiful  and  aloof,  and  he  had  not  been  here 
since  last  fall.  In  it  he  could  rest  unmolested, 
unwatched. 

During  the  day  there  had  been  showers;  now 
the  sun  was  out  warmly  while  here  and  there  the 
sky  was  hidden  by  clouds  and  in  places  he  could 
see  the  little  mists  shaken  downward  through  the 
bright  air.  Warm  rains  would  mean  a  quickened 
thaw,  open  trails  and  swifter  travel.  In  a  way  a 
propitious  season  was  making  it  up  to  him  for  the 
time  he  was  losing  in  idleness  with  a  hole  in  his 
side. 

An  odd  incident  occurred  that  afternoon. 
Drennen,  hard  man  as  he  was,  inured  to  the  heavy 
shocks  of  a  life  full  of  them,  felt  this  little  thing 
strangely.  He  was  resting,  sitting  upon  a  great 
boulder  under  a  pine  tree.  The  cup-like  valley, 
or  depressed  plateau,  lay  at  his  left,  himself  upon 
an  extreme  rim  of  it.  As  he  broocfed  he  noted  idly 
how  the  sunshine  was  busied  with  the  vapour  filled 
air,  building  of  it  a  triumphant  arch,  gloriously 


THE  PROMISE  OF  A  RAINBOW    6i 

coloured.  His  mood  was  not  for  brightness  and 
yet,  albeit  with  but  half  consciousness,  he  watched. 
Did  a  man  who  has  followed  the  beck  of  hope 
of  gold  ever  see  a  rainbow  without  wondering 
what  treasure  lay  at  the  far  end  of  the  radiant 
promise?     So,  idly,  Dave  Drennen  now. 

At  first  just  broken  bits  of  colour.  Then 
slowly  the  bits  merged  into  one  and  the  arc  com- 
pleted, the  far  end  seeming  to  rest  upon  the 
further  rim  of  the  level  open  space.  It  seemed 
a  tangible  thing,  not  a  visioned  nothing  born 
of  nothingness  and  to  perish  utterly  in  a 
twinkling. 

'*A  promise  that  is  a  lie,*'  he  said  to  himself 
bitterly.    "Like  the  promises  of  men." 

And  then  ...  to  his  startled  fancies  she  had 
come  into  being  like  the  rainbow,  from  nothing- 
ness .  .  .  where  the  foot  of  the  arch  had  ap- 
peared to  rest  stood  the  girl,  Ygerne.  A  quarter 
of  a  mile  between  Drennen  sitting  here  and  her 
standing  there,  a  stretch  of  boulder  strewn  moun- 
tain side  separating  them,  God's  covenant  join- 
ing them.  Drennen  stiffened,  started  to  his  feet 
as  though  he  had  looked  upon  magic.  At  the 
foot  of  the  rainbow  not  just  gold  .  .  .  gold  he 
had  in  plenty  now  .  .  .  but  a  woman  .  .  . 

He  laughed  his  old  ugly  laugh  and  settled  back 
upon  his  rock,  his  eyes  jerked  away  from  her, 
sent  back  down  the  slope  of  the  mountain  to  the 


62  WOLF  BREED 

green  fringe  of  the  Little  MacLeod.  He  knew 
that  his  senses  had  tricked  him  as  one's  senses 
are  so  prone  to  do;  that  she  had  merely  stepped 
into  sight  from  behind  a  shoulder  of  blackened 
cliff;  that  the  most  brilliantly  coloured  rainbow  is 
just  so  much  sunlight  and  water.  And  he  knew, 
too,  that  she  would  have  to  pass  close  to  him  on 
her  way  back  to  the  Settlement  unless  she  went 
to  considerable  effort  to  avoid  him. 

He  saw  her  shadow  upon  a  patch  of  snow  in 
the  trail  where  the  rock  protected  it.  He  did  not 
turn  his  head.  He  heard  her  step,  knew  when 
it  had  stopped  and  her  shadow  had  grown  mo- 
tionless.   She  was  not  ten  paces  from  him. 

Stubbornly  he  ignored  the  silent  challenge  of 
her  pausing.  With  slope  shoulders  he  sat  motion- 
less upon  his  rock,  his  face  turned  toward  the 
Little  MacLeod,  his  freshly  relighted  pipe  going 
calmly.  Yet  he  was  aware,  both  from  the  faint 
sound  of  her  tread  upon  the  soft  ground  and  from 
her  shadow,  cast  athwart  the  path,  that  she  had 
come  on  another  couple  of  steps,  that  she  had 
stopped  again,  that  her  gaze  was  now  no  doubt 
concerned  with  his  profile.  He  did  not  seek  to 
make  it  the  less  harsh,  to  soften  the  expression  of 
bitterness  and  uncouth  hardness  which  his  bit  of  a 
mirror  had  shown  him  in  the  dugout.  He  found 
that  without  turning  to  see  he  could  remember  just 
what  her  eyes  looked  like.    And  he  had  seen  them 


THE  PROMISE  OF  A  RAINBOW    63 

only  once  and  that  when  his  chief  concern  was 
a  bullet  hole  in  his  side. 

While  Drennen  drew  five  or  six  slow  puffs  at 
his  pipe  neither  he  nor  the  girl  moved.  Then 
again  she  drew  a  pace  nearer,  again  stopped.  He 
sent  his  eyes  stubbornly  up  and  down  the  willow 
fringed  banks  of  the  Little  MacLeod.  His 
thought,  used  to  obeying  that  thing  apart,  his  will, 
concerned  itself  with  the  question  of  just  where 
the  gold  seekers  were  driving  their  fools'  search 
for  his  gold. 

Stubbornness  in  the  man  had  met  a  stubborn- 
ness no  less  in  the  girl.  Though  his  attitude  might 
not  be  misread  she  refused  to  heed  it.  He  had 
half  expected  her  to  go  on,  and  was  idly  looking 
for  a  shrug  of  the  shadow's  shoulders  and  then  a 
straightening  of  them  as  she  went  past;  he  half 
expected  her  to  address  him  with  some  common- 
place remark.  He  had  not  thought  to  have  her 
stand  there  and  laugh  at  him. 


CHAPTER  VII 
'^'a  princess  sent  to  pack  with  wolves  I" 

BUT  laugh  she  did,  softly,  unaffectedly  and 
with  plainly  unsimulated  amusement.  She 
laughed  as  she  might  have  done  had  he  been  a 
little  child  indulging  in  a  fit  of  pouting,  she  the 
child's  mother.  Her  laughter  irritated  him  but 
did  not  affect  a  muscle  of  his  rigid  aloofness. 
Then  she  moved  again,  drawing;  no  nearer  but 
making  a  little  half  circle  so  that  she  stood  just 
in  front  of  him  breaking  his  view  of  the  river. 
The  hard  grey  of  his  eyes  met  the  soft  greynes,s 
of  hers. 

"Why  are  the  interesting  men  always  rude?" 
she  asked  him  out  of  a  short  silence. 

He  stared  at  her  coolly  a  moment,  of  half  a 
mind  to  reply  to  the  foolishness  of  her  question 
with  the  answer  which  it  deserved,  mere  silence. 

*'I  don't  know,"  he  retorted  bluntly. 

"Yes,  they  are,"  she  told  him  with  deep  gravity 
of  tone,  just  as  though  he  had  done  the  logical 
thing,  been  communicative  and  said,  "Are  they?" 
The  gravity  in  her  voice,  however,  was  notably 
in  contrast  with  the  crinkling  merriment  about  the 

64 


"TO  PACK  WITH  WOLVES  I"        6s 

corners  of  her  eyes.  "Perhaps,"  she  went  on, 
"that  is  one  of  the  rery  reasons  why  they  ar€ 
interesting." 

He  made  no  answer.  His  regard,  sweeping  her 
critically,  went  its  way  back  down  the  mountain 
side.  Not,  however,  until  the  glorious  lines  of 
her  young  figure  had  registered  themselves  in  his 
mind. 

"Perhaps,"  she  ran  on,  her  head  a  little  to  one 
side  as  she  studied  him  frankly,  "you  didn't  realise 
just  how  interesting  a  type  you  are?  In  feminine 
eyes,  of  course." 

"I  know  about  things  feminine  just  as  much 
as  I  care  to  know,"  he  said  with  all  of  the  rude- 
ness with  which  she  had  credited  him.  "Namely, 
nothing  whatever." 

Without  looking  to  see  how  she  had  taken  his 
words  he  felt  that  he  knew.  She  was  still  laugh- 
ing at  him,  silently  now,  but  none  the  less 
genuinely. 

"You  are  not  afraid  of  me,  are  you?"  she 
queried  quite  innocently. 

"I  think  not,"  he  told  her  shortly.  "Since  your 
sex  does  not  come  into  the  sphere  of  my  existence. 
Miss  Ygeme,  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  be 
afraid  of  it." 

"Oh!"  was  her  rejoinder.  "So  you  know  my 
name,  Mr.  Drennen?" 

"I  learned   it  quite   accidentally,  young  lady. 


66  WOLF  BREED 

Please  don't  think  that  the  knowledge  came  from 
a  premeditated  prying  into  your  affairs." 

She  ignored  the  sneer  as  utterly  negligible  and 
said, 

"And  you  used  to  be  a  gentleman,  once  upon 
a  time,  like  the  prince  in  the  fairy  tale  before 
the  witches  got  him.  Cherchez  la  femme.  Was 
it  a  woman  who  literally  drove  you  wild,  Mr. 
Drennen?" 

**No,"  he  told  her  in  his  harshly  emphatic 
way. 

"You  are  very  sure?" 

He  didn't  answer. 

"You  are  thinking  that  I  am  rather  forward 
than  maidenly?" 

"I  am  thinking  that  a  good  warm  rain  will 
help  to  clear  the  trails." 

"You  wish  that  I  would  go  away?" 

"Since  you  ask  it  .  .  .  yes." 

"That  is  one  reason  why  I  am  staying  here," 
she  laughed  at  him.  "By  the  way,  Mr.  Newly- 
made  Croesus,  does  this  mountain  belong  to  you, 
too?    Together  with  the  rest  of  the  universe?" 

He  knocked  out  the  ashes  of  his  pipe,  refilled 
the  bowl,  stuffing  the  black  Settlement  tobacco 
down  with  a  calloused,  soil-grimed  forefinger. 
And  that  was  her  answer.  She  saw  a  little  glint 
of  anger  in  his  eyes  even  while  she  could  not  fully 
understand  its  cause.    A  maid  of  moods,  her  mood 


"TO  PACK  WITH  WOLVES  r»        67 

to-day  had  been  merely  to  pique  him,  to  tease  a 
little  and  the  hint  of  anger  told  her  that  she 
had  succeeded.  But  she  was  not  entirely  satis- 
fied. With  truly  feminine  wisdom  she  guessed 
that  something  of  which  she  was  not  aware  lay 
under  the  emotion  which  had  for  a  second  lifted 
its  head  to  the  surface.  She  could  not  know  that 
she  awoke  memories  of  another  world  which  he 
had  turned  his  back  upon  and  did  not  care  to  be 
reminded  of;  she  did  not  know  that  the  very  way 
she  had  caught  her  hair  up,  the  way  her  clothes 
fitted  her,  brought  back  like  an  unpleasant  fra- 
grance in  his  nostrils  memories  of  that  other  world 
when  he  had  been  a  "gentleman." 

"Your  wound  is  healing  nicely?"  she  offered. 
And,  knowing  instinctively  that  again  his  answer 
would  be  silence,  she  went  on,  "It  was  very  pic- 
turesque, your  little  fight  the  other  night.  The 
woman  who  did  the  shooting,  I  wondered  whether 
she  really  loved  Kootanie  George  most  ...  or 
you?" 

"Look  here.  Miss  Ygerne  .  .  ." 

"Ygerne  Bellaire,"  she  said  with  an  affected  de- 
mureness  which  dimpled  at  him.  "So  you  may 
say:  *Miss  Bellaire.'  " 

"I  say  what  I  damned  please!"  he  snapped 
hotly,  and  through  the  crisp  words  she  heard  the 
click  of  his  teeth  against  his  pipe  stem.  "If  the 
flattery  is  not  too  much  for  a  modest  maiden  to 


68  WOLF  BREED 

stand  you  may  let  me  assure  you  that  the  one  thing 
about  you  which  I  like  is  your  name,  Ygerne. 
Speaking  of  fairy  tales,  it  sounds  like  the  name 
of  the  Princess  before  the  witches  changed  her 
into  an  adventuress,  and  sent  her  to  pack  with 
wolves.  When  it  becomes  necessary  for  me  to 
call  you  anything  whatever  I'll  call  you  Ygerne." 

It  was  enough  to  drive  her  in  head-erect,  de- 
fiant, orderly  retreat  down  the  mountainside.  But 
she  seemed  not  to  have  heard  anything  after  the 
first  curt  sentence. 

*'So  you  do  Vhat  you  damned  please'  ?  That 
sounds  interesting.     But  is  it  the  truth?" 

Her  perseverance  began,  in  spite  of  him,  to 
puzzle  him.  What  in  all  the  world  of  worlds  did 
she  want  of  him?  Also,  and  again  in  spite  of 
him,  he  began  to  wonder  what  sort  of  female  be- 
ing this  was. 

"And  so  my  name  is  really  the  only  thing  com- 
mendable about  me?'*  she  went  on.  "My  nose 
isn't  really  pug,  Mr.  Drennen." 

She  crinkled  it  up  for  his  inspection,  turning 
sideways  so  that  he  might  study  her  profile,  then 
challenging  his  eyes  gaily  with  her  own. 

"It  is  said  to  be  my  worst  feature,"  she  con- 
tinued gravely.  "And  after  all,  don't  you  think 
one's  nose  is  like  one's  gown  in  that  it's  true 
effect  lies  in  the  way  one  wears  it?" 

"How  old   are  you?"   he   said  curiously,   the 


"TO  PACK  WITH  WOLVES!"        69 

ice   of   him   giving   the   first   evidence    of   thaw. 

"Less  than  three  score  and  ten  In  actual  years," 
she  told  him.  "Vastly  more  than  that  in  wisdom. 
Who's  getting  impertinent  now?" 

He  hadn't  said  half  a  dozen  sentences  to  a 
woman  in  half  a  dozen  years.  But  then  he  hadn't 
seen  a  woman  of  her  class  and  type  in  nearly  twice 
that  length  of  time.  Besides,  a  week  of  enforced 
idleness  in  his  dugout,  of  blank  inactivity,  had 
brought  a  new  sort  of  loneliness.  A  bit  surprised 
at  what  he  was  doing,  a  bit  amused,  not  without 
a  feeling  of  contempt  for  himself,  he  let  the  bars 
down.  He  leaned  back  a  little  upon  his  rock, 
caught  up  a  knee  in  his  clasped  hands,  thus  easing 
the  ache  in  his  side,  and  set  his  eyes  to  meet  hers 
searchlngly. 

"This  is  an  odd  place  for  a  girl  like  you, 
Ygerne,"  he  said  meditatively. 

"Is  it?    And  why?" 

"Because,"  he  answered  slowly,  "so  far  as  I 
know,  only  two  kinds  of  people  ever  come  this 
way.  Some  are  human  hogs  come  to  get  their 
feet  into  a  trough  of  gold;  some  are  here  be- 
cause there  is  such  a  thing  as  the  law  outside 
and  It  has  driven  them  here." 

"But  surely  some  come  just  through  a  sense 
of  curiosity?" 

"Curiosity  Is  too  colourless  a  motive  to  beckon 
or  drive  folks  out  here." 


70  WOLF  BREED 

*'Why  are  you  asking  me  a  question  like  this? 
You  have  succeeded  in  making  it  rather  plain  that 
you  feel  no  interest  whatever  in  me." 

"I  am  allo\^ing  myself,  for  the  novelty  of  the 
thing,  to  talk  nonsense,"  he  told  her  drily.  *'You 
seemed  insistent  upon  it." 

"So  that's  it?  Well,  I  at  least  can  answer  a 
question.  Two  motives  are  to  thank  or  to  blame 
for  my  being  here.  One,"  she  said  coolly,  her 
eyes  steady  upon  his,  "has  beckoned,  as  you  put 
it;  the  other  has  driven.  One  is  the  desire  to  get 
my  feet  into  the  golden  trough,  the  other  to  get 
my  body  out  of  the  way  of  the  law.  Your  hypothe- 
sis seems,  in  my  case  as  in  the  others,  to  be  correct, 
Mr.  Drennen." 

In  spite  of  him  he  stared  at  her  a  little  won- 
deringly.  For  himself  he  gauged  her  years  at 
nineteen.  He  was  rather  inclined  to  the  suspicion 
that  she  was  lying  to  him  in  both  particulars. 
But  something  of  the  coolness  of  her  regard,  its 
vague  insolence,  something  in  the  way  she  car- 
ried her  head  and  shoulders,  her  whole  sureness 
of  poise,  the  Intangible  thing  called  personality 
in  her  tempered  like  fine  steel,  made  his  sus- 
picion waver.  She  was  young  and  good  to  look 
upon;  there  was  the  gloriously  fresh  bloom  of 
youth  upon  her ;  and  yet,  were  it  not  for  the  mere 
matter  of  sex,  he  might  have  looked  upon  her 
as  a  gay  and  utterly  unscrupulous  young  adven- 


"TO  PACK  WITH  WOLVES  I"        71 

turer  of  the  old  type,  the  kind  to  bow  gallantly 
to  a  lady  while  wiping  the  stain  of  wet  blood  from 
a  knife  blade. 

"You  are  after  gold  .  .  .  and  the  law  wants 
you  back  there  in  the  States?"  he  demanded  with 
quiet  curiosity. 

"I  am  after  gold  and  the  law  has  sought  me 
back  there  in  the  States,"  she  repeated  after  him 
coolly. 

"The  law  has  long  arms,  Ygerne." 

"It  has  no  arms  at  all,  Mr.  Drennen.  It  has 
a  long  tail  with  a  poisonous  sting  in  it." 

"What  does  it  want  you  for?"  He  was  mak- 
ing light  of  her  now,  his  question  accompanied  by 
a  hard,  cynical  look  which  told  her  that  she 
could  say  as  much  or  as  little  as  she  chose  and 
he'd  suit  himself  In  the  extent  of  his  credulity. 
"Were  you  the  lovely  cashier  In  an  Ice  cream 
store?  And  did  you  abscond  with  a  dollar  and 
ninety  cents?" 

"Don't  you  know  of  Paul  Bellaire?"  she  flung    ^ 
at  him  angrily. 

"I  have  never  met  the  gentleman,"  he  laughed 
at  her,  pleased  with  the  flush  which  was  In  her 
cheeks. 

"He  died  long  before  you  were  born,"  she 
said  sharply.  "If  you  talked  with  men  you  would 
know.  He  was  my  grandfather.  We  of  the  blood 
of  Paul  Bellaire  are  not  shop  girls,  Mr.  Drennen." 


72  WOLF  BREED 

"Oho,"  sneered  Drennen.      "We  are  in  the 

presence  of  gentry,  then?'* 

"You  are  in  the  presence  of  your  superior  by 
birth  if  not  in  all  other  matters,'*  she  told  him 
hotly. 

"We,  out  here,  don't  believe  much  in  the  efficacy 
of  blue  blood,"  he  said  contemptuously. 

"The  toad  has  little  conception  of  wings  I"  she 
gave  him  back,  in  the  coin  of  his  own  contempt. 
"Queer,  isn't  it?" 

He  laughed  at  her,  more  amused  than  he  had 
been  heretofore  and  more  interested. 

"You  haven't  told  me  definitely  about  your  ter- 
rible crime." 

"You  have  been  equally  noncommittal." 

Drennen  shrugged.  "I  am  not  greatly  given  to 
overtalkativeness,"  he  said  shortly.  "I  have  no 
desire  to  usurp  woman's  prerogative." 

"But  are  quite  willing  to  let  me  babble  on?" 

"I'm  going  to  put  in  time  for  a  couple  of  hours. 
You  are  less  maddening  than  the  walls  of  my 
dugout." 

She  looked  at  him  keenly,  silent  and  thoughtful 
for  a  little.    Then  she  said  abruptly : 

"Have  you  told  any  one  yet  of  your  discovery?" 

So  that  was  it.  His  eyes  grew  hard  again  with 
the  sneer  in  them. 

"No,"  he  informed  her  with  a  bluntncss  full 
of  finality. 


'TO  PACK  WITH  WOLVES  I"        73 

"You  spoke  of  the  hogs  with  their  feet  in  the 
trough.  You  are  going  to  let  no  one  in  with 
you?" 

**I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  giving  away  what  I 
want  for  myself." 

"But  you  can't  keep  it  secret  always.  You'll 
have  to  file  your  claim,  and  you  can't  file  on  all 
of  Canada.  ...  I  want  to  ask  you  something 
about  it." 

"No  doubt,"  with  his  old  bitter  smile.  "For 
a  fortune  you'd  repay  me  with  a  smile,  would 
you?  You'd  find  easier  game  in  the  gilded  youth 
on  Broadway." 

Her  lips  grew  a  little  cruel  as  she  answered 
him. 

"You  may  tell  me  as  much  or  as  little  as  you 
like.  You  may  lie  to  me  and  tell  me  that  your 
gold  is  twenty  miles  westward  of  here  while  it 
may  be  twice  or  half  that  distance  eastward.  Or 
you  may  leave  that  part  out  altogether.  B^t  it 
would  be  another  matter  to  answer  the  one  ques- 
tion I  will  ask."  Her  eyes  were  upon  him,  very 
alert,  watchful  for  a  sign  as  she  asked  her  ques- 
tion: "Were  the  nuggets  free  and  piled  up  some- 
where where  some  man  before  you  had  placed 
them?" 

If  she  sought  to  read  his  mind  against  his  will 
she  had  come  to  the  wrong  man.  It  was  as  though 
Drennen  had  not  heard  her. 


74  WOLF  BREED 

"Are  you  married  to  either  of  the  hang  dogs 
with  whom  you  are  travelling?"  he  asked. 

**No,"  she  answered  indifferently. 

"They're  both  in  love  with  you,  no  doubt?" 

"I  fancy  that  neither  Is,"  she  retorted  equably. 
"Both  want  to  marry  me,  that's  all." 

Drennen  gazed  thoughtfully  down  into  the  val- 
ley, pursing  his  lips  about  his  pipe  stem. 

"I'll  make  a  bargain  with  you,"  he  said  finally 
from  the  silence  in  which  the  girl  had  stood  watch- 
ing him.  "You  have  dinner  with  me;  we'll  have 
the  best  the  Settlement  knows  how  to  serve  us, 
and  I'll  let  you  try  to  pump  me." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"You  have  the  name  of  a  trouble  seeker,  Mr. 
Drennen.  Do  you  fancy  that  you  can  anger  Marc 
and  Captain  Sefton  this  way?" 

"That,  too,  we  can  talk  about  at  dinner,  if  you 
like." 

For  a  moment  she  looked  at  him,  gravely 
thoughtful,  her  brows  puckered  into  a  thoughtful 
frown.  Then  she  put  back  her  head  with  a  ges- 
ture indefinably  suggestive  of  recklessness,  and 
laughed  as  she  had  laughed  when  she  had  first 
come  upon  him. 

"The  novel  Invitation  is  accepted,"  she  said 
lightly.  "I  must  hurry  down  to  dress  for  the 
grand  occasion,  Mr.  Drennen." 

Before  she  could  flash  about  and  turn  from  him 


"TO  PACK  WITH  WOLVES  1"        751- 

David  Drennen  did  a  thing  he  had  done  for  no 
woman  In  many  years.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  mak- 
ing her  a  sweeping  bow  as  he  lifted  his  hat  with 
the  old  grace  which  the  years  had  not  taken  from 
him.  And  as  she  went  down  the  mountain  side 
he  dropped  back  to  his  rock,  his  teeth  again  hard 
clamped  upon  his  pipe  stem,  his  eyes  steely  and 
bitter  and  filled  with  cynical  irony. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DUST  OF   IDOLS 

DAVID  DRENNEN'S  statement  concerning 
the  two  powerful  motives  responsible  for 
the  presence  in  the  North  Woods  of  the  greater 
portion  of  her  hardy  denizens  had  been  essentially 
truthful.  The  shadow  of  prison  bars  or  perhaps 
the  gaunt  silhouette  of  the  gallows,  vivid  in  an 
overstimulated  fancy,  has  sent  many  a  man  rov- 
ing; the  whisper  down  the  world  of  yellow  gold 
to  be  taken  from  the  earth,  transforming  the 
blackened  claw  gripping  it  into  the  potent  fingers 
of  a  money  king,  has  entered  the  ear  of  many  a 
wanderer  and  drawn  him  to  such  a  land  as  this. 
Ah  evil  nature,  a  flare  of  temper,  a  wrong  done 
and  redressed  in  hot  wrath  and  red  blood,  a  mis- 
take or  a  weakness  or  a  wild  spirit  born  a  hun- 
dred years  too  late,  any  of  these  things  might  send 
a  man  into  the  North  Woods.  But  Drennen,  who 
made  the  statement  to  Ygerne  Bellaire,  was  in 
himself  an  exception  to  It. 

For  half  a  score  of  years  this  land  of  hard 
trails,  this  far  out  place  where  man  met  man  with- 

76 


DUST  OF  IDOLS  77 

out  veneer,  where  nature's  breasts  lay  stripped  of 
covering  and  naked,  where  life  was  the  old  life 
of  things  elemental,  where  primal  laws  were  good 
laws,  where  there  was  room  enough  for  the  strong 
and  scant  room  for  the  weak,  David  Drennen  had 
found  a  spacious  walled  home.  Half  of  the  year 
his  house  had  the  lofty,  snow-capped  mountains 
for  its  only  walls,  the  sweeping  blue  arch  for  its 
roof,  sun,  moon  and  stars  for  its  lamps.  There 
were  months  when  he  knew  of  no  other  footfall 
than  his  own  throughout  the  vastness  of  his 
house.  There  had  been  times  when,  seeing  the 
thin  wisp  of  smoke  against  the  dawn  telling  of  a 
camp  fire  five  miles  away,  he  had  grumbled  and 
trampled  out  his  own  embers  and  moved  on,  seek- 
ing solitude. 

He  had  brought  into  the  mountains  a  heart  at 
once  sore  and  bitter.  The  soreness  had  been 
drawn  out  of  It  in  time;  the  bitterness  had  but 
grown  the  more  intense.  Hard,  mordaclous,  no 
man's  friend  ...  that  was  the  David  Drennen 
who  at  Pere  Marquette's  fete  sought  any  quarrel 
to  which  he  might  lay  his  hands.  The  world  had 
battled  and  buffeted  him;  It  had  showered  blows 
and  been  chary  of  caresses;  he  had  struck  back, 
hard-fisted,  hard-hearted,  a  man  whom  a  brutal 
life  had  made  brutal  in  its  own  image. 

There  had  been  a  scar  made  in  his  world  of 
men  and  women  to  mark  his  leaving  it,  such  a  scar 


7^  WOLF  BREED 

as  a  thorn  leaves  in  the  flesh  when  rudely  drawn 
out.  A  tiny  cicatrix  soon  almost  entirely  lost  as 
the  niche  which  had  been  his  was  filled  and  the 
healing  over  was  perfected.  It  doesn't  take  long 
for  the  grass  to  grow  over  the  graves  of  the  dead; 
the  dew  forming  upon  the  mounded  turf  Is  less  like 
tears  than  like  glistening  jewels  to  deck  the  earth 
in  the  joyous  time  of  her  bridehood  In  the  spring; 
the  flight  of  birds  over  it  and  their  little  bursts  of 
melody  are  eloquent  of  an  ecstasy  which  does  not 
remember.  How  little  time  then  must  pass  to 
wipe  out  the  memory  of  the  passing  of  a  David 
Drennen  from  the  busy  thoroughfares  into  the  se- 
cluded trails? 

He  had  been  a  young  man,  the  lightest  hearted 
of  his  care-free  set,  when  the  crash  came.  The 
chief  component  characteristics  of  the  young 
David  Drennen  of  twenty  were,  perhaps,  a 
careless  generosity,  a  natural  spontaneous  gaiety 
which  accepted  each  day  as  it  came,  a  strong 
though  unanalysed  faith  in  his  fellow  being.  Life 
made  music  In  tuneful  chords  upon  the  strings  of 
his  heart.  The  twin  wells  of  love  and  faith  were 
always  brimming  for  his  friends;  overflowing 
for  the  one  man  whose  act  was  to  turn  their 
waters  brackish  and  bitter.  That  man  was  his 
father,  John  Harper  Drennen,  a  man  prominent 
enough  In  the  financial  world  to  make  much  copy 
for  the  newspapers  up  and  down  the  country  and 


DUST  OF  IDOLS  79 

to  occupy  no  little  place  in  transoceanic  cable  mes- 
sages when  the  story  broke. 

A  boy  must  have  his  hero  worship.  Rarely 
enough  does  he  find  his  Alexander  the  Great,  his 
Washington  or  his  Daniel  Boone,  his  Spartacus 
or  his  Horatius  In  his  own  household.  But  the 
motherless  David  had  proved  the  exception*  and 
had  long  ago  begun  to  shape  his  own  life  in  the 
picture  of  his  father's.  Investing  him  with  attri- 
butes essentially  divine.  John  Harper  Drennen 
was  a  great  man ;  the  boy  made  of  him  an  Infallible 
hero  who  should  have  been  a  demigod  in  face  of 
the  crisis.  And  when  that  crisis  came  his  demigod 
fled  before  it,  routed  by  the  vengeance  seeking 
him. 

Young  Drennen  had  struck  a  man  In  the  face 
for  breaking  the  news  to  him  and  had  felt  a  vir- 
tuous glow  as  he  called  the  man  "Liar  I"  He 
experienced  a  double  joy  upon  him,  the  lesser  one 
of  his  militant  manhood,  the  greater  of  realising 
that  It  had  been  granted  him,  even  in  a  small  way, 
to  fight  a  bit  of  his  father's  battle.  He  had  gone 
out  upon  the  street  and  a  newsboy's  paper,  thrust 
to  him,  offered  him  the  glaring  lie  in  great  black 
letters  for  a  penny.  He  had  torn  the  thing  across, 
flinging  It  away  angrily.  There  would  be  a  libel 
suit  to-morrow  and  such  an  apology  as  this  edi- 
torial cur  had  never  dreamed  he  had  it  in  him  to 
write.    He  heard  men  talk  of  it  in  the  subway  and 


8o  WOLF  BREED 

laugh,  and  saw  them  turn  wondering  eyes  to  meet 
his  glare.  He  made  short  his  trip  home,  anxious 
to  enlist  under  his  father's  standard,  thrilled  with 
the  thought  of  gripping  his  father's  hand. 

When  he  found  that  his  father,  who  should 
have  returned  two  days  ago  from  a  trip  to  Chi- 
cago had  not  come  back,  he  despatched  a  tele- 
gram to  the  lake  city.  The  telegram  was  returned 
to  him  in  due  course  of  time;  his  father  was  not 
in  Chicago  and  had  not  been  there  recently.  He 
wired  Boston,  Washington,  Philadelphia.  His 
father  was  at  none  of  his  hotels  in  any  of  these 
cities.  The  boy  prepared  himself  in  calm,  cold 
anger  to  wait  for  his  father's  return.  But  John 
Harper  Drennen  had  never  returned. 

During  the  week  which  dragged  horribly,  he 
refused  to  read  the  papers.  They  were  filled  with 
such  lies  as  he  had  no  stomach  for.  Only  the 
knowledge  that  the  older  Drennen  was  eminently 
capable  to  cope  with  his  own  destiny  and  must 
have  his  own  private  reasons  for  allowing  this 
hideous  scandal  to  continue  unrefuted,  held  him 
back  from  bursting  into  more  than  one  editorial 
room  to  wreak  physical,  violent  vengeance  there. 
His  respect  for  his  father  was  so  little  short  of 
reverent  awe,  that  he  could  take  no  step  yet  with- 
out John  Harper's  command.  Quizzed  by  the 
police,  questioned  by  the  Chief,  knowing  himself 
dogged  wherever  he  went,   feeling  certain  that 


DUST  OF  IDOLS  8i 

even  his  mail  was  no  longer  safe  from  prying  eyes, 
he  said  always  the  same  thing: 

"Some  of  you  are  fools,  some  liars  I  When 
Dad  comes  back  .  .  '.'* 

He  had  choked  up  under  the  keen  eyes  of  the 
Chief.  And  what  angered  him  most  was  the 
look  in  the  Chief's  eyes.  It  was  not  incredulity; 
it  was  merely  pity. 

At  first  the  papers  had  it  that  John  Harper 
Drennen  had  absconded  with  fifty  thousand  dol- 
lars of  the  Eastern  Mines  Company's  money. 
With  rapid  investigation  came  ready  amplifica- 
tion of  the  first  meagre  details.  Drennen's  af- 
fairs were  looked  into  and  it  was  found  that 
through  unwise  speculations  the  man  had  been 
skirting  on  thin  ice  the  pool  of  financial  ruin  for 
a  year.  The  deficit  of  fifty  thousand  grew  under 
the  microscope  of  investigation  to  sixty  thousand, 
eventually  to  seventy-five  thousand. 

When  at  last  David  Drennen  got  the  back  num- 
bers of  the  papers  and  locked  himself  up  in  his 
father's  library  to  work  his  way  laboriously 
through  the  columns  of  fact  and  surmise  he  was 
not  the  same  David  Drennen  who  had  struck  a 
man  in  the  face  for  suggesting  to  him  that  his 
father  was  a  thief.  Here  was  the  first  sign  of  a 
weakening  of  faith;  here  the  first  fear  which 
strove  wildly  to  prove  itself  a  shadow.  But  from 
shadow  emerged  certainty.    He  looked  his  spectre 


82  WOLF  BREED 

in  the  face  and  it  did  not  dissolve  into  thin  air. 
When  he  had  done  he  put  his  face  upon  his  arms 
and  sobbed.  The  tardy  but  crushing  sense  of  his 
hero's  guilt  had  stricken  him ;  the  thought  that  his 
father  had  in  no  way  confided  in  him,  had  left  him 
without  a  word,  perhaps  without  a  thought,  broke 
his  heart.  He  was  never  to  be  quite  the  same 
David  Drennen  again. 

He  remained  at  his  father's  home  through  the 
weary  months  during  which  the  miserably  sordid 
horror  dragged  on.  One  morning  he  packed  into 
a  suitcase  the  few  little  articles  which  he  felt  were 
his  own.  He  went  out  of  the  house  before  the 
others  came  in ;  he  had  no  desire  to  see  the  home 
go,  as  everything  else  had  gone,  to  pour  its  hand- 
ful of  golden  sand  into  the  great  hole  which  John 
Harper's  ruin  had  left  behind  him.  It  had  been 
almost  a  year  since  the  first  news;  and  upon  the 
day  on  which  David  Drennen  set  his  back  to  all 
he  knew  and  his  face  toward  what  might  come  to 
him,  a  paper  brought  the  last  word.  He  read  it 
calmly  upon  the  train,  wondering  at  himself  that 
there  was  such  a  thing  as  calm  left  to  him.  A 
man,  looking  over  his  shoulder,  commented  on 
the  news  lightly.  Drennen  didn't  answer.  He 
was  visualising  the  final  episode  dully;  the  great, 
masterful  body  of  his  own  father  in  the  Paris 
morgue,  the  ignominious  grave,  even  the  cowardly 
death,  self-dealt. 


DUST  OF  IDOLS  83 

"And  he  never  wrote  me,"  he  muttered  to  him- 
self. 

There  he  was  wrong,  though  he  could  not  know 
it  until  months  later  when  the  brief  letter,  for- 
warded to  him  by  the  Chief,  reached  him.  His 
face  had  been  hard,  because  his  heart  was  hard, 
when  he  read  the  note  which  at  last  John  Harper 
Drennen  had  written  and  which,  sodden  and 
blurred,  was  found  upon  the  dead  body  drawn 
from  the  Seine. 

"Dear  Davy,"  it  had  said.  "Some  day  maybe  you'll 
come  to  forgive  me.  God  dealt  me  a  hard  hand  to  play, 
boy.  Be  a  man,  Davy;  for  your  mother's  sake  if  not  for 
your  dad's." 

Drennen  a  year  ago  would  have  dropped  his 
face  into  his  hands  and  would  have  wept  over 
this  letter;  now  he  laughed  at  it.  And  the  laugh, 
this  first  one,  was  the  laugh  men  came  to  know 
as  Dave  Drennen's  laugh.  It  was  like  a  sneer  and 
a  curse  and  a  slap  in  the  face. 

The  hardest  blow  the  fates  could  deal  him  had 
been  delivered  mercilessly.  But  other  relentless 
blows  were  to  come  after,  and  under  their  im- 
placable, relentless  smiting  the  soul  of  the  man 
was  hardened  and  altered  and  made  over  as  is  the 
bit  of  iron  under  the  blacksmith^s  hammer.  Those 
characteristics  which  had  been  the  essentials  of  the 


84  WOLF  BREED 

spiritual  man  of  last  year  were  worked  over;  the 
fine  steel  springs  of  buoyancy  were  beaten  into  thin 
knives  of  malignancy.  That  the  work  might  be 
done  thoroughly  there  was  left  in  him  one  spark 
which  glowed  later  on  and  grew  into  friendship 
for  a  man  whom  he  met  far  in  the  north  where 
the  Yukon  country  called  to  such  men  as  Drennen. 
The  friendship  fanned  into  life  a  lingering  spark 
of  the  old  generous  spirit.  Drennen,  gambling  his 
life  lightly,  had  won  as  careless  gamblers  are 
prone  to  do.  He  made  a  strike;  he  trusted  his 
new  friend;  and  his  friend  tricked,  betrayed  and 
robbed  him.  This  blow  and  others  came  with  the 
gaunt  years.  At  the  end  of  them  David  Drennen 
was  the  man  who  sought  to  quarrel  with  Kootanie 
George;  he  was  a  man  like  a  lone  wolf,  hunting 
alone,  eating  alone,  making  his  lair  alone,  his 
heart  filled  with  hatred  and  bitterness  and  dis- 
trust. He  came  to  expect  the  savagery  of  the 
world  which  smote  and  smote  and  smote  again  at 
him,  and  he  struck  back  and  snarled  back,  each 
day  finding  him  a  bitterer  man  than  the  preceding 
day  had  left  him.  Long  before  he  had  turned 
back  from  the  Yukon  to  the  North  Woods,  empty 
handed,  empty  hearted,  men  had  come  to  call  him 
"No-luck"  Drennen.  And  as  though  his  ill  for- 
tune were  some  ugly,  contagious  disease,  they 
shunned  him  even  as  invariably  as  he  avoided 
them. 


\ 


DUST  OF  IDOLS  85 

Men  knew  him  in  Wild  Cat,  two  weeks  hard 
going  over  an  invisible  trail  from  MacLeod^s; 
they  knew  him  at  Moosejaw,  two  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  westward  of  the  Settlement;  wherever 
there  was  news  of  gold  found  he  was  known,  gen- 
erally coming  silently  with  the  first  handful  of 
venturesome,  restive  spirits.  But  while  his  com- 
ing and  his  going  were  marked  and  while  eyes 
followed  him  interestedly  men  had  given  over 
offering  their  hands  in  companionship.  Now 
and  then  he  moved  among  them  as  a  man  must, 
but  always  was  he  aloof,  standing  stubbornly 
apart,  offering  no  man  his  aid  in  time  of  difficulty, 
flaring  into  blazing  wrath  the  few  times  on  record 
when  men  showed  sympathy  and  desire  to  befriend 
him. 

Superstition,  abashed-eyed  step  daughter  in  the 
house  of  civilisation,  lifts  her  head  defiantly  in 
the  wilderness.  She  is  born  of  the  solitudes,  a 
true  daughter  of  the  silent  places.  Here,  where 
men  were  few  and  scattered  broadcast  by  the 
great  hand  of  adventure  across  the  broken  miles 
of  all  but  impassable  mountains,  superstition  is  no 
longer  merely  an  incident  but  an  essential  factor 
in  human  life  and  destiny.  And  here  men  long 
ago  had  come  to  frown  when  their  questing  eyes 
found  the  great,  gaunt  form  of  David  Drennen 
in  the  van  of  some  mad  rush  to  new  fields:  He 
was  unlucky ;  men  who  rubbed  shoulders  with  him 


86  WOLF  BREED 

were  foredoomed  to  share  his  misfortune;  the 
gold,  glittering  into  their  eyes  from  a  gash  in  the 
earth,  would  vanish  when  his  shadow  fell  across 
it. 

In  many  things  he  had  grown  to  be  more  like  a 
wild  beast  than  a  man.  He  had  hunted  with  the 
human  pack  and  he  had  found  selfishness  and 
jealousy  and  treachery  on  every  hand.  He  came 
to  look  upon  these  as  the  essential  characteristics 
of  the  human  race.  Even  now  that  he  was  wound- 
ed he  saw  but  one  sordid  motive  of  greed  under 
the  hesitant  offers  of  help;  even  now  he  had  been 
less  like  a  wounded  man  than  a  stricken  wolf. 
The  wolf  would  have  withdrawn  to  his  hidden 
lair;  he  would  have  contented  himself  with  scant 
food;  he  would  have  licked  his  wound  clean  and 
have  waited  for  it  to  heal ;  he  would  have  snapped 
and  snarled  at  any  intrusion,  knowing  the  way 
of  his  fellows  when  they  fall  upon  a  wounded 
brother.    So  Drennen. 


■"'#^ 


^  CHAPTER  IX 

**T0  THE  GIRL  I  AM  GOING  TO  KISS  TO-NIGHT  I" 

AN  odd  mood  was  upon  him  this  afternoon. 
Perhaps  since  moods  are  contagious,  his 
was  caught  from  the  girl,  Ygerne.  With  a  sort 
of  jeering  laughter  in  his  heart  he  surrendered  to 
his  inclination.  The  world  had  gone  stale  in  his 
mouth;  a  black  depression  beat  at  him  with  its 
stiffling  wings;  an  hour  with  the  girl  might  offer 
other  amusement  than  the  mere  angering  of  Le- 
marc  and  Sefton.  He  wanted  only  one  thing  in 
the  world;  to  be  whole  of  body  so  that  he  might 
fare  out  on  the  trail  again,  a  fresh  trail  now  that 
gold  lay  at  the  end  of  it.  But  since  he  might  not 
have  the  greater  wish  he  contented  himself  with 
the  lesser. 

He  shaved  himself,  grimly  conscious  of  the  con- 
tempt looking  out  at  him  from  the  haggard  eyes 
in  the  mirror.  Those  eyes  mocked  him  like  an- 
other man's.  Then  he  went  to  Pere  Marquette's 
store,  paying  scant  attention  to  the  three  or  four 
men  he  found  there.  He  made  known  his  wants 
and  tossed  his  gold  pieces  to  the  counter,  taking 

87 


88  WOLF  BREED 

no  stock  of  curious  gazes.  He  saw  that  Kootanle 
George  was  there  and  that  Kootanle's  big  boots 
were  gummed  with  the  red  mud  of  the  upper  trail. 
He  took  no  trouble  to  hide  his  sneer;  Kootanle 
George,  too,  had  been  out  In  search  of  his  gold 
and  had  returned  empty  handed. 

To  each  question  of  Pere  Marquette  his  answer 
was  the  same : 

"The  best  youVe  got;  damn  the  price." 

Marquette  had  but  the  one  white  silk  shirt  In  the 
house  and  Drennen  took  It,  paying  the  ten  dollars 
without  a  word.  There  were  many  pairs  of  boots 
to  fit  him;  one  pair  alone  took  his  fancy,  though 
he  knew  the  rich  black  leather  and  the  shapely 
high  heels  would  cause  him  to  hurl  them  away 
to-morrow  as  things  unfit  for  the  foot  of  man. 
He  selected  corduroy  breeches  and  a  soft  black 
hat  and  returned  to  his  dugout,  leaving  fifty  dol- 
lars upon  the  counter.  And  when  he  had  dressed 
and  had  laughed  at  himself  he  went  back  up  the 
muddy  road  for  Ygerne.  But  first  he  stopped  at 
Joe's. 

"I  want  the  private  room,"  he  said,  and  Joe 
nodded  eagerly  as  he  saw  Drennen's  hand  emerge 
from  his  pocket.  "And  I  want  the  best  dinner  for 
two  you  can  put  on.    Trimmings  and  all." 

Joe,  slipping  the  first  of  Drennen's  money  Into 
his  pocket  and  cherishing  high  hopes  of  more, 
set  himself  and  his  boy  to  work,  seeing  his  way 


"THE  GIRL  I  AM  GOING  TO  KISS"      89 

of  arriving  at  the  second  gold  piece  with  no  great 
loss  of  time. 

The  long  northern  twilight  was  an  hour  old 
when  Drennen  called  for  Ygerne.  She  came  out 
of  her  room  at  Marquette's  ready  for  him.  She 
had  told  him  she  must  "dress"  for  the  occasion. 
He  had  thought  her  joking.  In  spite  of  him  he 
stared  at  her  wonderingly  a  moment.  And,  de- 
spite her  own  gathering  of  will,  a  flush  crept  into 
her  cheeks  under  his  look  while  her  own  eyes  wid- 
ened to  the  alterations  a  little  effort  had  made  in 
the  man.  And  the  thing  each  noted  swiftly  of  the 
other  was  scarcely  less  swiftly  noted  by  all  men 
and  women  in  the  Settlement  before  they  had  gone 
down  to  Joe's :  he  had  suddenly  become  as  hand- 
some as  a  devil  from  hell;  she  as  radiant  as  an 
angel. 

"Are  we  just  going  to  step  into  a  ballroom  for 
the  masquerade?"  she  half  whispered  with  a  queer 
little  intake  of  breath  as  she  found  his  arm  with 
a  white  gloved  hand.  "And  is  all  this,"  waving 
at  the  Settlement  itself,  the  river  snaking  its  way 
through  the  narrow  valley,  the  frowning  fronts 
of  Ironhead  and  Indian  Peak  against  the  saffron 
sky,  "just  so  much  painted  canvas  for  the  proper 
background?" 

He  laughed  and  brought  his  eyes  away  from 
the  white  throat  and  shoulders,  letting  them  sweep 
upward  to  the  mystery  of  her  eyes,  the  dusky  hair 


90  WOLF  BREED 

half  seen,  half  guessed  under  the  sheen  of  her 
scarf,  wondering  the  while  at  the  strange  feminin- 
ity of  her  in  bringing  such  dainty  articles  of  dress 
to  such  a  land.  Then,  his  eyes  finding  the  prettily 
slippered  and  stockinged  feet,  he  moved  with  her 
to  the  side  of  the  road  where  the  ground  was 
harder. 

Joe  had  seen  with  amazing  rapidity  that  the 
''trimmings"  were  not  wanting.  With  old  knowl- 
edge born  of  many  years  of  restaurant  work,  he 
knew  that  any  day  some  prospector  might  find 
that  which  all  prospectors  endlessly  sought  and 
that  then  he  would  grind  his  bare  grubstake  con- 
temptuously under  his  heel  and  demand  to  eat. 
Upon  such  occasions  there  would  be  no  questions 
asked  as  to  price  if  Joe  but  tickled  the  tingling 
palate.  Joe  had  unlocked  the  padlock  of  the  cel- 
lar trapdoor;  he  had  gone  down  and  had  unlocked 
another  padlock  upon  a  great  box.  And  all  that 
which  he  had  brought  out,  beginning  with  a  white 
tablecloth  and  ending  with  nuts  and  raisins,  had 
been  a  revelation  to  his  boy  assistant.  There  was 
potted  chicken,  there  were  tinned  tomatoes  and 
peaches,  there  were  many  things  which  David 
Drennen  had  not  looked  upon  for  the  matter  of 
years. 

The  ''private  room"  into  which  Joe,  even  his 
apron  changed  for  the  occasion,  showed  them  was 
simply  the  far  end  of  the  long  lunch  room,  half 


) 


"THE  GIRL  I  AM  GOING  TO  KISS"     91 

shut  off  from  the  rest  of  the  house  by  a  flimsy 
partition  having  no  door,  but  a  wide,  high  arch  let 
into  it  through  which  a  man  at  the  lunch  counter 
might  see  the  little  table  and  both  of  the  diners. 

Drennen,  stepping  in  front  of  Joe,  took 
Ygerne's  scarf,  drew  out  her  chair  for  her,  and 
having  seen  her  seated,  took  his  own  place  with 
the  table  between  them.  He  nodded  approvingly 
as  he  noted  that  Joe  had  not  been  without  taste; 
for  the  restaurant  keeper  had  even  thought  of 
flowers  and  the  best  that  the  Settlement  could  pro- 
vide, a  flaming  red  snowplant,  stood  in  the  centre 
of  the  table  in  a  glass  bowl  of  clean  white  snow. 

Joe  brought  the  wine,  a  bucket  at  which  the 
boy  had  scrubbed  for  ten  minutes,  holding  the 
bottle  as  the  glass  bowl  held  the  snow-plant,  in  a 
bed  of  snow.  When  he  offered  it  a  trifle  uncer- 
tainly to  Drennen's  gaze  and  Drennen  looked  at 
it  and  away,  nodding  carelessly,  Joe  allowed  him- 
self to  smile  contentedly.  Champagne  here  was 
like  so  much  molten  gold;  it  was  assured  that 
Drennen  was  "going  the  limit." 

Drennen  lifted  his  glass.  His  glance,  busied 
a  moment  remlnlscently  with  the  bubbling  amber 
fluid,  travelled  across  the  table.  Ygerne  Bellaire 
had  raised  her  glass  with  him.  Her  eyes  were 
sparkling,  a  little  eager,  a  little  excited,  perhaps 
a  little  triumphant. 

*'Isn't  it  fun?'*  she  said  gaily. 


92  WOLF  BREED 

He  looked  back  gravely  into  her  laughing  eyes. 

''May  I  drink  your  health?"  he  demanded. 
"And  success  to  whatever  venture  has  brought 
you  so  far  from  the  beaten  trail." 

She  set  down  her  glass,  making  a  little  moue  of 
pretended  disappointment  at  him  with  her  red 
mouth. 

''And  I  was  thinking  that  I  was  to  have  the 
honour  of  drawing  something  gallant,  at  least  flat- 
tering, something  befitting  the  occasion,  from 
you!"  she  said;  "Why  don't  you  say,  'Here's 
lookln'  at  you,'  and  be  done  with  it?" 

He  laughed. 

"Then  I'll  say  what  I  was  thinking.  May  I 
drink  this  to  the  one  woman  I  have  ever  seen 
whom  I'd  fall  in  love  with  ...  if  I  were  a  fool 
like  other  men?" 

He  drank  his  wine  slowly,  draining  the  glass, 
his  eyes  full  upon  hers.  She  laughed  and  when 
he  had  done  said  lightly, 

"At  least  that's  better."  She  sipped  her  own 
wine  and  set  it  aside  again.  "Why  didn't  you  say 
that  in  the  first  place  ?  Why  must  you  think  one 
thing  and  say  another?" 

"That  way  lies  wisdom,"  he  told  her  coolly. 

"Or  stupidity,  which?"  she  retorted. 

"Shall  a  man  say  all  of  the  foolish  things  which 
flash  into  his  brain?" 

"Why  not?"    She  shrugged,  twisting  her  glass 


I 


"THE  GIRL  I  AM  GOING  TO  KISS"     93 

in  slow  fingers.  "If  all  of  the  nonsense  were  taken 
out  of  life  what  would  be  left,  I  wonder?" 

"I  have  the  honour  to  entertain  the  high-born 
Lady  Ygerne  Bellaire  at  dinner,"  he  said  in  mock 
deference.  "Her  request  is  my  command.  Shall 
I  voice  my  second  idiotic  thought?" 

She  nodded,  making  her  mouth  smile  at  him 
while  her  eyes  were  gravely  speculative. 

"Then,"  and  his  bow  was  in  accord  with  the 
mockery  of  his  tone,  "I  was  thinking  that  for  the 
reason  best  known  to  the  King  of  Fools  I'd  like 
to  kiss  that  red  mouth  of  yours,  Ygerne  I" 

"You'd  be  the  first  man  who  had  ever  done  so,'* 
she  told  him  steadily. 

"Quite  sure  of  that?"  he  sneered. 

"Yes." 

"Tempting  me  further?"  he  laughed  at  her. 

"I  don't  think  you'd  dare,  with  all  of  your  pre- 
sumption, Mr.  Drennen." 

"Because  there  are  a  couple  of  men  out  there  to 
see,  I  suppose?" 

"No.  I  don't  think  that  that  would  stop  you. 
Because  of  this." 

A  hand,  dropped  to  her  lap,  came  up  to  the 
level  of  the  table  top  and  in  its  palm  he  saw  the 
shining  barrel  of  a  small  automatic  pistol.  Again 
he  laughed  at  her. 

"It  seems  the  latest  fad  for  women  to  carry  such 
playthings,"  he  ridiculed  her.     "I  wonder  how 


94  WOLF  BREED 

frightened  you'd  have  to  be  before  you  could  pull 
the  trigger?" 

"Just  merelyangered,"shesmiledbackathim,as 
the  weapon  went  back  intoherlap,  and  out  of  sight. 

"It's  just  a  trifling  episode,  this  shooting  a 
man,"  he  suggested.  *'I  suppose  you've  done  that 
sort  of  thing  before?" 

"If  I  hadn't  perhaps  I  shouldn't  be  here  now," 
she  informed  him  as  quietly  as  he  had  spoken. 

It  flashed  upon  Drennen,  looking  straight  into 
her  unfaltering  eyes,  that  the  girl  was  telling  him 
the  truth.  Well,  why  not?  There  was  Southern 
blood  in  her;  her  name  suggested  it  and  her  ap- 
pearance proclaimed  It.  And  Southern  blood  is 
hot  blood.  His  Instinct  was  telling  him  that  she 
was  some  new  type  of  adventuress;  her  words 
seemed  to  assure  him  of  the  fact. 

"Since  I  cannot  be  about  my  business  these 
days,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  am  fortunate  in  finding 
so  entertaining  a  lady  to  share  my  idleness." 

"And  I  in  finding  so  gallant  a  host,"  she  smiled 
back  at  him. 

Joe  served  the  first  of  his  lighter  courses  and 
withdrew.  As  time  passed  a  few  men  came  into 
the  lunch  room,  their  eyes  finding  the  two  figures 
in  the  private  room.  Drennen  observed  them 
casually.  He  saw  Marc  Lemarc  and  Captain  Sef- 
ton.  The  old  hard  smile  clung  for  a  moment  to 
his  lips  as  he  marked  the  angry  stare  which  the 


"THE  GIRL  I  AM  GOING  TO  KISS"      95 

man  with  the  coppery  Vandyck  beard  bestowed 
upon  him.  He  saw  Kootanle  George  enter  alone  J 
he  saw,  a  little  later,  Ernestine  Dumont  flirting 
with  Ramon  Garcia,  ignoring  the  big  Canadian. 
Garcia  stepped  to  Joe's  side  to  arrange  for  the 
use  of  the  room  in  which  Drennen  and  Ygerne 
were;  Ernestine,  thinking  the  room  empty  as  it 
usually  was,  came  on  to  the  arch  of  the  door  be- 
fore she  saw  its  occupants.  As  her  eyes  swept 
quickly  from  Ygerne  to  Drennen  a  hot  flush  ran 
up  into  the  woman's  cheeks.  Then,  with  a  little, 
hard  laugh,  she  turned  back  to  find  a  seat  with 
Garcia  at  one  of  the  oilcloth  covered  tables.  Gar- 
cia, for  the  first  time  seeing  Ygerne,  bowed  sweep- 
ingly,  his  eyes  frankly  admiring  her,  before  he  sat 
down  with  Ernestine. 

*'Ygerne  I"  said  Drennen  out  of  a  desultory  con- 
versation in  which  an  idle  question  put  and  un- 
answered was  promptly  forgotten. 

"Well?"  she  asked  quietly. 

"I  am  going  to  tell  you  something.  You  will 
note  that  I  have  had  but  the  one  glass  of  wine; 
I  have  drunk  only  one  toast.  Therefore  we  may 
admit  that  I  am  sober  and  know  what  I  am  about. 
We  are  going  to  talk  of  the  thing  I  have  found 
somewhere  in  the  mountains.  That  is  why  we  are 
met  to-night  ...  so  that  you  may  have  your 
opportunity  to  try  to  learn  what  I  alone  know, 
what  you  and   so   many  others   want  to  know. 


96  WOLF  BREED 

When  we  have  finished  our  little  banquet  you, 
being  a  free  agent,  are  at  liberty  to  call  upon  one 
of  your  friends  there  or  even  upon  Joe,  to  see 
you  to  your  room.    Or  you  can  accept  my  escort." 

While  she  watched  him,  her  elbows  on  the  table, 
her  chin  upon  her  clasped  hands,  he  poured  him- 
self a  second  glass.  She  saw  the  light  in  his  eyes 
change  subtly  as  he  continued: 

"A  second  toast,  my  Princess  Ygerne  I  To  the 
girl  I  am  going  to  kiss  to-night  on  our  way  between 
Joe's  and  Marquette's!  He  held  his  glass  up  and 
laughed  at  her  across  the  top  of  it.  "To  the  girl 
I'd  love  now  were  I  a  fool;  the  girl  I  wouldn't 
know  to-morrow  if  I  saw  her !  The  girl  who  pits 
the  beauty  of  her  body  against  the  calm  of  a  man's 
brain.  The  girl  whose  eyes  are  as  beautiful  as 
shining  stars.  The  girl  whose  eyes  are  filled  with 
the  madness  of  the  lust  of  gold!  To  a  sweet- 
faced,  cool-hearted  little  adventuress  .  .  .  My 
Lady  Ygerne  I  Am  I  insulting?  You  knew  that 
before  you  did  me  the  honour  to  dine  with  me. 
Shall  I  drink  the  toast,  Ygerne?" 

She  sat  regarding  him  gravely,  the  dimples  of  a 
moment  ago  merely  sweet  memories,  her  eyes  stars 
no  longer  but  deep  twin  pools,  mystery-filled. 

"Was  there  a  time  when  you  were  a  gentleman, 
Mr.  Drennen?"  she  asked  steadily. 

"Was  there  a  time  when  you  were  as  innocent 
as  you  look,  Ygerne?"  he  answered  coolly. 


"THE  GIRL  I  AM  GOING  TO  KISS"     97 

He  saw  the  anger  leap  up  in  her  eyes,  he  noted 
a  sudden  hard,  tense  curving  of  her  lips.  Then, 
lifting  her  white  shoulders,  she  laughed  softly  as 
she  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  relaxing. 

*'Drink,"  she  said  lightly.  "As  you  say,  we 
shall  talk  of  your  new  strike.  As  you  say,  that  is 
why  I  am  here  with  you.    And  then  .  .  ." 

He  had  tossed  off  his  wine  and  now  said 
sharply : 

"Then  you  will  allow  me  the  pleasure  of  escort- 
ing you  to  the  door  of  Pere  Marquette's  ...  or 
you  will  get  one  of  your  hangdogs  or  Joe  here  to 
see  you  home.    Which?" 

"Do  you  think  I  am  a  coward?"  she  said 
quickly. 

"All  women  are,  I  think,"  was  his  blunt  an- 
swer. 

"Then  try  to  kiss  me  when  you  please !  Since 
I  am  your  guest  to-night  I  shall  expect  you  to  see 
me  to  my  room." 

"I  have  told  you  what  will  happen." 

She  smiled  at  him.  He  saw  the  fleeting  dimples 
at  the  corners  of  the  red  lipped  mouth.  And  he 
saw  too,  in  her  eyes,  the  glint  as  of  steel. 

"Speaking  of  your  discovery,  Mr.  Drennen . .  ." 

He  laughed. 


CHAPTER  X 


SEEKERS   AFTER  GOLD 


THERE  had  been  only  three  loitering  men  and 
one  woman  enjoying  Joe's  hospitality  as 
they  went  out.  The  men  were  Lemarc,  Sefton  and 
Ramon  Garcia,  the  woman  Ernestine  Dumont. 
Drennen  saw  that  Ygerne  made  cool  pretence  of 
seeing  none  of  them;  Lemarc  and  Sefton  had  no 
doubt  lingered  to  watch  her  leave  and  she  did 
not  take  kindly  to  such  espionage.  She  was  busy 
with  the  careful  buttoning  of  a  glove,  the  left 
glove.    The  right  hand  she  left  bare. 

Not  fifty  steps  from  Marquette's  Drennen  laid 
his  hand  upon  her  arm. 

"Kiss  me,  Ygerne,"  he  commanded  quietly. 

There  was  little  light,  but  he  saw  the  glint  of 
it  upon  the  pistol  in  her  hand. 

"You  know  what  you  would  have  to  pay,"  she 
said  coolly.     "Is  it  worth  it?" 

For  answer  he  threw  out  his  arms  to  draw  her 
lithe  body  close  up  to  his.  But  as  her  gloved 
hand  struck  him  across  the  face  she  had  sprung 
back,   twisting  a  little,   avoiding  him,   putting  a 

98 


SEEKERS  AFTER  GOLD  99 

quick  two  yards  between  them.  He  felt,  rather 
than  saw,  that  her  pistol,  levelled  across  the  short 
space  separating  them,  bore  full  upon  his  chest. 

*'WaitI    Listen  to  me.    You  must  listen." 

She  was  no  longer  calm.  He  could  hear  her 
panting,  whether  from  the  exertion  of  snatching 
herself  away  from  him  or  from  the  tense  grip  of 
whatever  emotion  was  playing  upon  her  nerves 
he  could  not  tell. 

*'Don't  you  know  that  I  mean  what  I  say?  That 
I  can  kill  you,  that  I  will  kill  you  if  you  dare  In- 
sult me  further?" 

**I  know  only  one  thing,"  he  told  her,  his  voice 
sterner  than  she  had  heard  it  before.  *'The  King 
of  Fools  has  put  a  mad  desire  into  my  brain.  And 
you  have  helped  him,  I  am  always  ready  to  pay 
for  whatever  I  get  and  I  am  not  used  to  haggling 
over  the  price." 

**I  have  told  you  that  I  would  kill  you  if  you 
dared!"  she  flashed  the  words  at  him. 

"And  I,"  he  retorted  coolly,  *'told  you  that  Td 
kiss  you  If  you  dared  come  with  me.  Were  we 
both  bluffing?    Or  neither,  Ygerne?" 

"Coward!"  she  panted,  and  he  knew  how  the 
red  lips  curled  to  the  words.  Even  that  picture 
but  made  madder  the  mad  longing  upon  him.  With 
his  ugly  laugh  at  the  odd  twist  of  feminine  logic 
which  had  applied  such  an  epithet  at  such  a  time, 
he  came  swiftly  toward  her. 


loo  WOLF  BREED 

As  he  came  on  Ygerne  fired.  The  darkness  was 
thick,  but  It  seemed  to  her  frowning  eyes  that  he 
had  foreseen  the  shot  at  the  second  before  it  was 
fired  and  had  swung  his  shoulders  to  the  side  so 
that  it  cut  by  him  without  touching  him.  Again 
she  fired;  but  now  he  was  upon  her  and  his  hand 
had  struck  the  pistol  aside  so  that  the  questing 
bullet  sped  skywards.  His  arms  were  about  her, 
drawing  her  tighter  until  they  hurt  her;  she  heard 
his  breathing  as  his  lips  sought  hers.  Her  right 
arm  was  held  down  at  her  side  but  her  left  hand 
struck  at  his  face,  tore  at  him,  thrust  him  each 
possible  quarter  of  an  inch  away,  shielded  her 
face.  Again  and  again  she  struck,  an  unthinkable 
strength  in  her  tense  body. 

The  door  at  Marquette's  was  thrown  open  and 
half  a  dozen  men  rushed  out  Into  the  road.  The 
girl  felt  Drennen's  arm  relax,  the  right  arm  about 
her  shoulders.  With  a  quick  movement  she  slipped 
free  of  it. 

"Who  shot?"  called  one  of  the  men.  "What's 
wrong?" 

Ygerne,  two  paces  from  Drennen's  side,  an- 
swered very  quietly,  her  coolness  amazing  him. 

"I  fired.  It  was  a  wager  with  Mr.  Drennen.  I 
shot  at  a  wolf.  I  think  I  missed.  Didn't  I,  Mr. 
Drennen?" 

Drennen  did  not  answer.  The  men  in  the  road 
muttered  among  themselves,  guessed  something  of 


SEEKERS  AFTER  ISQU?  i.Ui^i 

the  truth,  laughed  and  went  back  into  the  house. 
Drennen  walked  with  Ygerne  to  her  own  door. 
As  he  lifted  his  hat  she  threw  open  the  door  and 
the  light  streamed  across  his  face.  She  saw  that 
it  was  white  and  that  his  lips  were  set  tight.  Her 
eyes  went  quickly  to  the  white  silk  shirt  he  had 
that  day  bought  of  Marquette.  There  was  a 
widening  splotch  of  red  at  the  side,  below  the 
shoulder. 

"Are  you  badly  hurt?"  she  asked  coolly. 

"I  don't  know.  I  guess  not.  Good  night, 
Ygerne." 

"I  thought  that  somewhere  in  you  there  was 
the  soul  of  a  gentleman,"  she  said,  her  voice  rising 
in  clear  scorn.     "You  are  nothing  but  brute !" 

"Nothing  but  brute,"  he  repeated  after  her 
harshly.    "You  are  quite  right." 

She  looked  at  him  fixedly  a  moment.  Meeting 
her  eyes  he  saw  a  swift  change  come.  She  was 
smiling  at  him  now  quite  as  though  nothing  un- 
pleasant had  arisen  during  a  commonplace  eve- 
ning; she  even  put  out  her  hand,  the  ungloved  one 
which  had  shot  him  two  minutes  ago,  and  said 
lightly: 

"I  haven't  thanked  you  for  a  very  pleasant  eve- 
ning, Mr.  Drennen.  It  is  one  I  shall  not  forget 
soon.     Good  night." 

For  a  moment  he  made  no  answer.  Instead  he 
stood  looking  steadily,  curiously  at  her.     Then 


loa  WOLF  BREED 

suddenly  he  stooped  a  little,  caught  up  her  hand 
and  brushed  it  lightly  with  his  lips ;  the  right,  un- 
gloved hand.     Then  he  turned  away. 

She  saw  that  he  steadied  himself  by  the  fence 
about  Marquette's  yard  and  now  was  moving 
slowly  toward  his  dugout.  He  had  forgotten  to 
put  on  his  hat  and  still  held  it  crumpled  in  his 
hand.  ,She  stood  for  a  little  while  staring  after 
him.  Then  she  went  into  the  house,  closing  the 
door  softly. 

Drennen,  making  his  slow  way  homeward,  met 
the  men  Lemarc  and  Sefton  in  a  place  where  the 
light  from  an  open  door  streamed  across  the  road. 
Before  Lemarc  cried  out  Drennen  had  seen  the 
working  muscles  of  his  face;  the  man  was  in  the 
grip  of  a  terrible  rage. 

"Damn  you,"  cried  Lemarc  wildly.  "What 
have  you  done?  That  was  Ygerne's  gun;  I  know 
it.    If  you  have  laid  a  hand  on  her  .   .  ." 

"Stand  aside,  you  fool,"  snapped  Drennen,  less 
angry  at  Lemarc  than  at  himself  for  his  own  phys- 
ical weakness. 

"I  tell  you,"  shouted  Lemarc,  his  hand  whip- 
ping out  from  under  his  coat  and  upward,  the  lamp 
rays  from  the  house  running  down  the  keen  two- 
edged  steel,  "if  you  .  .  ." 

"Shut  up.  Marc."  It  was  Captain  Sefton's 
voice,  sharp  and  threatening  and  steady  with  its 
cold  anger.     Drennen,  looking  to  him,  saw  in  his 


SEEKERS  AFTER  GOLD  103 

face  a  fury  no  less  than  Lemarc's  but  held 
under  control.  "Things  are  bad  enough  as  they 
are." 

"What  do  I  care?"  snarled  Lemarc,  wrenching 
at  the  hand  Sefton  had  shot  out  to  his  arm.  "If 
you  think  I'll  stand  for  everything  .   .  ." 

"You'll  stand  for  anything  I  say  stand  for," 
Sefton  said  coolly.  "Remerjiber  that,  Lemarc. 
Besides,  Ygerne's  all  right.  She  can  take  care  of 
herself,  my  boy.    Come  on." 

Grumbling,  Lemarc  allowed  himself  to  be  led 
away.  Drennen  passed  on  and  to  his  dugout.  He 
found  his  bunk  in  the  darkness  and  sat  down  upon 
the  edge  of  it,  resting,  breathing  heavily,  his  weak- 
ness grown  already  into  giddy  nausea.  Finally, 
feeling  the  blood  hot  against  his  flesh  and  knowing 
that  he  must  get  it  stopped,  he  struck  a  match  and 
lighted  a  candle.  With  fingers  shaking  a  little  he 
tore  his  shirt  away  at  the  side  and  found  the  hurt. 
A  little,  contemptuous  grunt  escaped  him  as  he 
made  out  just  how  bad  it  was.  The  bullet  had 
merely  ripped  along  his  side,  inflicting  a  shallow 
surface  wound,  coming  the  nearest  thing  in  the 
world  to  missing  him  altogether.  Had  he  not  been 
pitifully  nerveless  from  another  wound  not  ten 
days  old  and  his  strength  exhausted  from  his  first 
active  day  since  it  had  been  given  to  him,  he  could 
have  laughed  at  this  and  at  the  girl  who  had  fired 
it.     He  stopped  the  bleeding  as  best  he  might. 


I04  WOLF  BREED 

drew  a  rude  bandage  about  his  body,  and  sank 
back  on  his  bunk  dizzy  and  sick. 

**And  now,"  he  muttered  disgustedly,  "because 
I  have  been  a  damned  fool  over  a  pretty  cat  with 
a  red  mouth  and  poisonous  claws  I've  got  another 
week  of  hell  before  I  can  go  out  on  the  trail 
agairf." 

The  knowledge  that  he  was  a  fool  was  no  new 
knowledge  to  Drennen.  He  sneered  at  himself 
for  staking  his  life  against  a  chance  woman's  lips, 
and,  snarling,  put  out  his  candle.  He  drew  the 
tumbled  covers  of  his  bed  about  him,  of  neither 
strength  nor  will  to  undress  or  to  go  and  close  the 
door  he  had  left  open.  He  wanted  to  sleep;  to 
wipe  out  the  memory  of  this  day's  folly  as  he 
sought  to  lose  the  memory  of  all  other  days.  He 
wanted  his  strength  back  because  of  the  mere  ani- 
mal instinct  of  life,  not  because  life  was  a  pretty 
thing. 

But  he  did  not  sleep.  His  was  that  state  of 
weakness  and  exhaustion  of  a  battered  body  which 
fends  off  immediate,  utter  restfulness.  He  had 
shut  the  gates  of  his  mind  to  the  girl,  Ygerne.  But 
it  was  as  though  his  hands,  holding  the  gates  shut, 
were  powerless,  and  her  hands,  dragging  at  them 
that  she  might  enter,  were  strong.  With  weari- 
ness and  faintness  came  a  light  fever. 

Through  his  fever  the  girl  passed  and  repassed 
all  night.    He  saw  her  as  she  had  stood  yonder  on 


SEEKERS  AFTER  GOLD  105, 

the  mountain  side,  at  the  foot  of  the  rainbow.  He 
saw  her  as  she  had  stepped  out  to  meet  him  when 
he  had  gone  to  Marquette's  for  her,  as  she  had  sat 
across  the  table  from  him.  Her  white  arms 
flashed  at  him,  her  white  throat  and  bare  shoul- 
ders shone  through  a  blur  of  wandering  fancies. 
Her  red  mouth  was  before  him  through  the  long 
hours,  luring  him  now,  the  lips  blossoming  into  a 
kiss;  mocking  him  now;  laughing  with  him,  her 
cheeks  dimpling  as  she  laughed;  laughing  at  him, 
hard  as  carved  coral.  All  night  the  grey  mystery 
of  her  eyes  was  upon  him,  their  expression  ever 
shifting,  now  filled  with  promise  like  dawn  skies, 
now  vague  with  threats  like  grey  depths  of  ocean 
over  hidden  rocks. 

When  his  will  broke  down  in  his  utter  weakness 
and  he  gave  over  trying  to  sleep,  he  drew  himself 
up  against  the  wall  which  was  head-board  for  his 
bunk,  lighted  his  candle  and  filled  his  pipe.  Smok- 
ing slowly,  the  candle  light  in  his  eyes,  the  objects 
of  his  dugout  brought  into  sudden  harsh  reality, 
he  drove  his  mind  away  from  the  girl  and  sent  it 
to  the  gold  which  he  had  discovered  in  its  hidden 
place  in  the  mountains.  Now  he  could  tell  him- 
self calmly  that  a  few  days  of  inactivity  didn't  mat- 
ter. A  few  more  days  and  he  would  be  himself 
again;  and  then  he  might  follow  what  path  of  life 
he  chose,  because  he  would  be  a  rich  man.  And 
then  he  grew  drowsy  and  dozed,  only  to  have 


io6  WOLF  BREED 

Ygerne  Bellaire  slip  back  Into  his  befogged  imagin- 
ings with  her  white  shoulders,  her  grey  eyes  and 
her  red  mouth. 

When  in  the  faint  light  before  the  dawn  the  sick 
yellow  flame  of  the  second  candle  was  dying  out 
Drennen  was  making  his  way  to  Joe*s.  He  drank 
his  coffee  and  then  drove  himself  to  eat  two  bowls 
of  mush.  His  face  was  so  bloodless  and  drawn 
that  Joe  stared  at  him  as  at  a  ghost.  Each  time 
that  Drennen  moved  he  felt  a  burning  pain  in  his 
side  as  though  the  wound  were  tearing  open 
afresh. 

The  forenoon  he  spent  in  his  dugout,  dozing  a 
little,  but  for  the  most  part  staring  moodily  out 
of  his  open  door  at  the  muddy  waters  of  the  JLittle 
MacLeod.  He  was  aware,  toward  noon,  of  an 
unusual  bustle  and  stir  In  the  Settlement.  Men 
were  arriving,  almost  in  a  steady  stream,  a  few 
on  horseback,  the  major  part  on  foot.  There 
floated  out  to  him  loud  voices  from  Pere  Mar- 
quette's store ;  they  were  drinking  there.  He  won- 
dered Idly  what  lay  back  of  this  human  influx. 
He  was  too  sick  to  care  greatly. 

He  had  left  word  with  Joe  to  send  the  boy  with 
lunch  at  noon.  The  boy  came  In  shortly  after  one 
o'clock,  explaining  that  there  had  been  such  a 
rush  at  the  counter  that  Joe  couldn't  let  him  go 
sooner.  Drennen  cursed  him  and  drove  him  out, 
asking  no  questions. 


SEEKERS  AFTER  GOLD  107 

The  human  tide  sweeping  into  the  Settlement 
rose  steadily  during  the  afternoon.  A  street  which 
had  been  deserted  twenty-four  hours  ago  was 
now  jammed  from  side  to  side.  Drennen  came  to 
understand  dully  as  the  day  wore  on  that  there 
could  be  but  one  explanation;  a  rush  like  this 
meant  that  some  fool  had  dropped  his  pick  into  a 
vein  of  gold  and  word  of  it  had  flashed  across  the 
mountains.  Even  then,  his  pain  and  exhaustion 
and  giddy  sickness  were  such  that  he  did  not  real- 
ise that  he  himself  was  to  thank  for  the  pouring  of 
hundreds  of  men  into  MacLeod's. 

When  at  last  the  true  explanation  did  dawn 
upon  him  he  reached  out  for  his  pipe,  stuffed  the 
bowl-  full  of  his  tobacco  and  leaned  back  upon  his 
bunk,  his  eyes  frowning,  his  lips  hard  about  his 
pipe  stem.  So,  silent  and  brooding,  he  waited, 
knowing  that  it  was  to  expect  too  much  of  human 
endurance  to  think  that  they  would  let  him  alone 
much  longer. 

The  first  man  to  ^asit  him  thrust  through  the 
doorway  unceremoniously  and  coming  straight  to 
Drennen's  side  said  bluntly,  "I  am  Madden, 
Charles  Madden  of  the  Canadian  Mining  Com- 
pany.   Maybe  youVe  heard  of  me?" 

Drennen  eyed  him  insolently,  taking  stock  of 
the  fresh  cheeks,  the  keen  blue  eyes,  the  square, 
massive,  masterly  jaw,  the  assertive  air,  the  cloth- 
ing which  was  civilisation's  conventional  garb  and 


io8  WOLF  BREED 

which  In  the  matter  alone  of  heavy  laced  boots 
made  concession  to  the  mountains.  The  man  was 
young,  perhaps  had  not  yet  gotten  Into  his  thirties, 
and  none  the  less  had  already  that  dominance  of 
personality  belonging  to  a  seasoned  captain  of  In- 
dustry. Drennen,  drawing  at  his  pipe,  maintained 
his  silence. 

"Well?"  demanded  Charlie  Madden. 

He  whipped  at  one  gloved  hand  with  the  gaunt- 
let he  held  In  the  other  and  stared  at  Drennen  im- 
patiently. He  had  just  arrived  and  had  made  no 
delay  In  coming  to  the  dugout;  Drennen  noted  the 
dust  of  his  ride  upon  his  face,  the  spurs  still  upon 
his  boots.  The  atmosphere  he  bore  with  him  was 
one  of  business  urgency. 

"Damn  it,  man,"  snapped  Madden,  "I've  got 
something  else  to  do  besides  smother  In  your 
hovel.    I'm  here  to  talk  business." 

He  flung  himself  into  the  solitary  chair  In  the 
one-room  place,  jerked  his  head  about,  saw  that 
the  door  was  open,  got  up  and  closed  it,  and  came 
back  to  his  chair.  Drennen,  eyeing  him  with  steady 
hostility,  did  not  open  his  lips. 

"Now,"  and  Madden  had  tossed  gauntlets  and 
hat  to  the  floor  beside  him,  "I'm  anxious  to  get 
this  thing  over  with.  You've  struck  gold,  they  tell 
me?    Let's  see  the  colour  of  It." 

"What's  your  proposition?"  Drennen  asked 
carelessly. 


SEEKERS  AFTER  GOLD  109 

Madden  laughed  his  stock-in-trade  laugh ;  it  was 
intended  to  make  the  other  man  feel  vaguely  that 
he  was  talking  nonsense  to  a  seer. 

"Do  you  think  I  run  around  with  a  proposition 
to  make  every  prospector  who  thinks  he's  found 
a  bonanza  ?  Before  I  know  where  the  claim  is  or 
see  the  dirt  out  of  it?" 

Drennen  lay  back  a  little,  his  hands  clasped  be- 
hind his  head. 

''I  know  something  of  your  company  and  your 
methods,"  he  said  coolly.  "YouVe  a  pack  of 
damned  thieves.  And,  since  you  ask  It,  I  do  think 
that  you  run  around  all  loaded  with  your  proposi- 
tion. Your  game  Is  to  pay  a  man  enough  to  get 
him  drunk  and  keep  him  drunk  for  a  spell ;  that's 
his  cash  bonus;  he  gets  the  rest  in  stocks.  Then 
you  break  him  with  assessments  and  kick  him  out. 
Fm  not  talking  business  to-day,  thank  you,"  he 
ended  drily. 

Madden  looked  at  him  keenly,  making  a  swift 
appraisal  which  had  in  it  something  of  the  nature 
of  a  readjustment.    Then  he  laughed  again. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Drennen,"  he  said  confiden- 
tially, leaning  close  to  the  man  on  the  bunk,  "my 
company  has  a  bigger  financial  backing  than  any 
other  In  the  country.  We  are  willing  to  take  what 
we  can  get  as  cheap  as  we  can  get  it,  of  course  I'll 
admit  that.  At  the  same  time  If  youVe  got  a  gold 
mine  we're  ready  and  we're  able  to  pay  all  It's 


no  WOLF  BREED 

worth.  You've  got  the  brains  to  know  that  the 
day  has  passed  for  a  man  to  work  his  own  claim 
If  there's  anything  In  it.  You've  got  to  sell  out  to 
somebody.    Why  not  to  the  Canadian?" 

Now,  Madden,  having  heard  the  tale  of  Dren- 
nen's  dice  game  with  a  canvas  bag  of  virgin  gold 
backing  his  play  and  of  a  fight  in  which  Drennen 
had  gone  down  from  a  bullet  fired  by  Ernestine 
Dumont,  had  made  up  his  mind  that  in  the  dugout 
he  would  come  upon  a  certain  type  of  man  which 
he  knew  well.  He  expected  to  find  Drennen  half 
sodden  with  liquor,  garrulous,  boastful  and  withal 
easy  to  handle.  His  estimate  changed  swiftly,  but 
he  altered  merely  in  slight  detail  his  plan  of  attacL 
After  a  keen  glance  about  the  dugout  his  words 
came  smoothly.  Drennen  was  no  illiterate  miner 
but  he  was  sorely  ridden  by  poverty,  just  the 
same. 

"Give  me  your  word  that  you've  really  found 
the  real  stufF,"  Madden  said,  *'and  we'll  talk  busi- 
ness. Oh,  that  Isn't  the  ordinary  course,  to  be 
sure,  but  I'm  willing  to  make  an  exception  after 
seeing  you;  you  are  not  the  ordinary  man.  Come 
out  with  me  to  Lebarge;  we'll  pick  up  a  lawyer 
and  sign  some  papers.  For  your  protection  and 
mine,  understand.  Then  we'll  have  a  look  at  your 
claim.  Incidentally,"  his  hand  coming  suddenly 
from  his  pocket  with  a  roll  of  bills  In  It,  "you  can 
put  in  your  own  expense  account,  and,"  with  a 


SEEKERS  AFTER  GOLD  iii 

wink,  "you  can  go  as  far  as  you  like.  Vm  a  gen- 
erous cuss  with  the  company's  money  when  they 
give  me  full  swing." 

Drennen  put  out  his  hand;  Madden  urbanely 
stripped  off  one  of  the  bills  and  handed  it  to  him. 
It  was  for  fifty  dollars.  Drennen  struck  a  match, 
set  fire  to  a  corner  of  the  bill  and  used  the  lighter 
to  get  his  pipe  going.  Madden,  upon  his  feet  in 
pink-faced  wrath,  was  silenced  by  Drennen's  voice 
booming  out  angrily : 

"So  you  think  you  can  bait  me  Into  your  lawyer 
trap  with  jingling  pennies  in  a  tin  cup  1  Look  at 
that,  man;  look  at  that!" 

With  a  sudden  gesture  he  had  caught  out  his 
canvas  bag  and  had  poured  the  heavy  contents 
upon  the  bunk  beside  him.  Madden  bent  for- 
ward quickly,  and  a  little  gasp  came  into  his 
throat,  a  new,  more  vivid  tide  of  pink  into  his 
cheeks  as  he  saw.  Drennen  shoved  fifty  dollars 
in  minted  gold  to  one  side. 

"There's  your  change,"  he  said  crisply.  And 
when  Madden's  fingers  had  reluctantly  dropped 
the  nuggets  back  to  the  quilt,  "And  as  for  proposi- 
tions, I'm  the  man  who's  making  them.  I'm  to  be 
left  alone  to  file  on  my  claims  and  protect  myself 
first.  Then,  if  you're  on  hand,  you  can  look  my 
property  over.  I'm  going  to  sell;  if  you're  the 
first  company  to  take  up  my  offer  it  might  be  that 
I'd  sell  to  you." 


112  WOLF  BREED 

**And  your  proposition?'*  demanded  Madden 
sharply. 

"An  assurance  that  the  mine  will  be  worked; 
ten  per  cent  of  the  total  number  of  shares  in  my 
name;  a  further  assurance  of  exemption  from  as- 
sessment for  ten  years;  and  a  little  bonus." 

Madden  used  his  stock-in-trade  laugh  again.  It 
was  well  that  he  made  use  of  it  when  he  did;  else 
he  would  not  have  been  able  to  summon  it  up  from 
his  paralysed  throat.  For  he  put  a  question  and 
got  a  brief,  direct  answer,  and  the  answer  affected 
him  much  as  a  fist  in  the  pit  of  the  stomach  might 
have  done. 

"What  sort  of  cash  bonus?"  was  the  question. 

"One  hundred  thousand  dollars  I"  was  the  cool 
rejoinder. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  WITCHERY   OF  YGERNE 

CHARLIE  MADDEN  of  the  Canadian  Min- 
ing Company  wasn't  the  man  to  squander 
time  which  might  be  valuable  in  idle  surmises.  Ten 
minutes  after  leaving  Drennen  he  had  sent  a  man 
on  horseback  scurrying  down  the  hundred  miles  of 
trail  to  Lebarge.  The  man  carried  a  letter  to  the 
General  Manager.    The  letter  ran  in  part: 

"...  I  don't  know  whether  the  man  Is  crazy  or  not. 
Having  seen  his  specimens  I'm  rather  inclined  to  think 
he's  not.  But  he's  fool  enough  to  have  shown  the  stuff 
before  filing  on  his  claim.  Send  me  Luke  and  Berry 
and  Jernigan  on  the  run.  Drennen  is  laid  up  with  a 
couple  of  bullet  holes  in  him.  I'll  keep  him  from  filing 
as  long  as  I  can ;  the  rest  is  up  to  the  men  you  send  me." 

Then,  his  eyes  filled  with  the  glint  of  his  pur- 
pose, his  jaw  seeming  to  grow  lean  with  the  de- 
termination upon  him,  Madden  made  himself  as 
comfortable  as  conditions  permitted  in  MacLeod's 
Settlement  and  settled  down  to  a  period  of  un- 

"3 


114  WOLF  BREED 

sleeping  watchfulness.  He  took  a  room  at  Pere 
Marquette's. 

Before  the  crowd  in  the  camp  had  thronged 
Joe's  Lunch  Counter  toward  evening  the  fever  of 
excitement  had  grown  into  a  delirium.  Madden 
hadn't  talked;  Drennen  hadn't  talked.  And  yet 
the  word  flew  about  mysteriously  that  Drennen 
had  asked  ten  per  cent  of  the  stock  of  his  mine 
and  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  cash  I  "God  I  He 
had  driven  his  pick  into  the  mother  lode  of  the 
world  I"  That  was  the  thing  which  many  men  said 
in  many  ways,  over  and  over  and  over  again.  The 
Canadian  Mining  Company  was  trying  to  frame 
a  deal  with  him;  Madden  had  rushed  a  man  to 
Lebarge  with  some  sort  of  message;  two  other  big 
mining  concerns  had  their  representatives  in  town. 
And  Drennen  hadn't  filed  on  his  claim;  the  gold 
lay  somewhere  in  the  mountains  offering  itself  to 
whatever  man  might  find  it.  A  man  who  could 
not  buy  his  own  grubstake  to-day  might  "own  the 
earth"  to-morrow. 

Before  darkness  came  MacLeod's  Settlement, 
seething  with  restless  humanity  for  a  few  hours, 
was  again  pouring  itself  out  into  the  wilderness 
in  many  erratic  streams.  And  no  man  left  who 
had  not  first  gone  by  Pere  Marquette's  and  seen 
the  nuggets  which  the  old  man  had  put  into  his 
one  glass-topped  show  case,  and  no  man  but 
carried  the  picture  of  them  dancing  before  his 


THE  WITCHERY  OF  YGERNE     115 

eyes  as  he  went.  Kootanie  George,  who  had  had 
no  word  for  Ernestine  Dumont  since  she  had 
shamed  him,  went  with  them.  Ramon  Garcia, 
having  kissed  Ernestine  Dumont's  hand,  went  with 
them.  And,  oddly  enough,  Kootanie  George  and 
Ramon  Garcia  went  together  as  trail  pardners. 

The  one  man  who  evinced  no  concern  at  what 
was  going  on  was  David  Drennen.  His  calm  was 
like  that  of  a  chip  caught  and  held  motionless  for 
a  little  in  the  centre  of  a  whirlpool  while  scores 
of  other  chips  gyrated  madly  about  him;  himself 
the  pivot  about  which  all  rotated  while  he  seemed 
unmoved.  There  were  hundreds  of  sharp-eyed 
old  prospectors  looking  for  the  thing  he  had 
found;  if  they  in  turn  found  it  it  would  become 
theirs  and  be  lost  to  him. 

The  Settlement  saw  more  strangers  in  a  week 
than  it  had  ever  seen  in  the  days  of  its  existence 
before.  The  rare  opportunity  was  given  to  take 
stock  first  hand  of  men  of  whom  it  had  talked 
many  times,  men  whose  names  meant  something. 
Such  a  man  was  Charlie  Madden  with  the  fresh 
cheeks  and  the  way  of  an  old  captain  of  industry. 
Such  was  the  man  who  came  in  behalf  of  the  north- 
western company.  A  man  between  fifty  and  sixty, 
big  bodied,  stalwart,  stern  faced,  silent  tongued. 
An  old  prospector  from  the  outside  put  an  end  to 
much  speculation  by  informing  a  knot  of  men  that 
this  was  old  Marshall  Sothern;  the  name  carried 


ii6  WOLF  BREED 

weight  and  brought  fresh  interest.  Such  a  man 
was  Ben  Hasbrook,  little  and  dried  up  and  nerv- 
ous mannered,  a  power  in  the  network  of  rami- 
fications of  a  big  corporation  having  its  head  in 
Quebec,  its  tail  in  Vancouver,  its  claws  everywhere 
throughout  Canada.  These  men  spelled  big  in- 
terests; these  were  the  lions  come  to  wrest  away 
the  prey  which  the  pack  of  wolves  was  ravening 
for. 

Ben  Hasbrook  trod  almost  in  Charlie  Mad- 
den's  footsteps  going  to  Drennen;  he  came  away 
almost  immediately,  tugging  at  his  beard,  hot-eyed 
and  wrathful.  Marshall  Sothern,  having  had  a 
word  with  Pere  Marquette,  a  word  with  Lunch 
Counter  Joe,  having  seen  Hasbrook*s  retreat, 
frowned  thoughtfully  and  postponed  any  interview 
he  may  have  desired  with  No-luck  Drennen.  He 
paid  for  a  room  at  Joe's  for  a  week  in  advance, 
went  into  solitary  session,  smoking  his  blackened 
pipe  thoughtfully,  his  powerful  fingers  beating  a 
long  tattoo  upon  the  sill  of  the  window  through 
which  his  eyes  could  find  Drennen's  dugout.  With 
full  square  beard,  iron  grey  hair,  massive  coun- 
tenance, there  was  something  leonine  about  Mar- 
shall Sothern.  It  appeared  reasonable  that  if  he 
were  going  into  the  battle  against  Madden  and 
Hasbrook,  then  Madden  and  Hasbrook  would 
need  their  wits  about  them.  He  seemed  at  once 
gifted  with  infinite  patience  and  unalterable  will. 


THE  WITCHERY  OF  YGERNE     117 

He  did  not  move  from  his  window  until  he  had 
seen  David  Drennen  come  out  of  his  dugout,  mak- 
ing his  slow  way  to  supper  at  Joe^s.  Sothern's 
eyes,  as  keen  as  knife  blades,  studied  the  dark 
face,  probing  deep  for  a  knowledge  of  the  man 
himself.  It  was  as  though  he  were  making  his  first 
move  in  the  game  from  ambush,  as  though  he  felt 
that  the  most  important  thing  in  the  world  just 
now  were  a  thorough  understanding  of  the  man 
with  whom  he  must  deal.  He  had  had  Marquette's 
estimate  and  Joe's  .  .  .  now  he  sought  to  form 
his  own.  .  .  . 

There  was  a  hard  smile  upon  Sothern's  face 
as  Drennen  passed  on,  a  smile  not  without  a 
strange  sort  of  satisfaction,  flashing  a  quick  light 
into  the  eyes. 

"By  God,  I  like  him  I"  he  burst  out  softly.  "So 
you're  David  Drennen,  are  you?  Well,  my  boy, 
the  hounds  of  hell  are  after  you  .  .  .  that's  in 
your  face.  But  it's  in  your  face,  too,  that  you  can 
stand  on  your  own  feet.  Hm.  In  this  game  I'm 
going  to  keep  an  eye  on  Madden  and  Hasbrook, 
and  both  eyes  on  you." 

But,  despite  the  dynamic  possibilities  of  action 
and  strife  and  history  making,  the  days  went  by 
without  event.  Drennen  came  his  three  times  daily 
to  Joe's  for  his  meals,  spent  the  major  part  of  his 
time  in  his  dugout  or  taking  short,  lonely  walks  up 
and  down  the  river,  coaxing  back  his  strength.    He 


ii8  WOLF  BREED 

saw  much  of  Lemarc  and  Sefton  upon  the  street, 
noting  that  they,  like  himself,  had  stayed  behind, 
letting  the  other  fools  go  on  their  fools'  errands, 
sensing  that  their  craft  bade  them  linger  to  watch 
him.  He  saw  Ygerne  several  times,  always  from 
a  distance,  and  made  no  attempt  to  speak  with 
her.  He  saw  Madden,  Ben  Hasbrook  and  Mar- 
shall Sothern,  grew  accustomed  to  the  knowledge 
that  they  were  playing  their  waiting  game,  not  un- 
like Sefton  and  Marc  Lemarc,  and  gave  them  little 
attention.  They  didn't  interest  him ;  when  he  was 
ready  he  would  deal  with  them  and  until  that  time 
came  need  not  waste  his  thoughts  upon  them. 

But  all  of  the  stubborn  will  of  a  David  Dren- 
nen  could  not  keep  his  mind  away  from  Ygerne 
Bellaire  though  he  held  his  feet  back  from  tak- 
ing him  to  her,  though  he  drove  his  eyes  away 
from  her.  He  had  let  down  the  bars  once  for  her 
to  come  into  his  life  as  he  had  let  them  down  for 
no  man  or  other  woman  in  years.  He  had  yielded 
to  a  mood,  thinking  that  it  was  only  a  mood  and 
that  so  far  as  he  was  concerned  she  would  cease 
to  exist  when  he  willed  it.  He  found  himself,  how- 
ever, seeking  to  explain  her  presence  here,  com- 
panioned by  such  men  as  Marc  Lemarc  and  Cap- 
tain Sefton ;  he  sought  to  construct  the  story  of 
her  life  before  she  had  come  into  this  land  where 
women  from  her  obvious  station  in  life  did  not 
come;  he  wrestled  with  the  enigma  of  her  char- 


i 


THE  WITCHERY  OF  YGERNE     119 

acter,  unconsciously  striving  to  find  extenuation 
for  the  evil  he  deemed  was  in  her. 

"We  are  a  bad  lot  here,"  he  muttered  once 
after  long  puzzling.  "A  bad  lot.  Some  of  us  are 
bad  because  we  are  weak  and  the  world  has  tempt- 
ed. Some  of  us  are  bad  because  we  are  strong 
and  the  world  has  driven.  Some  of  us  are  cruel, 
like  steel;  some  of  us  are  treacherous,  like  poison. 
Where  do  you  fit  in,  Ygerne  Bellaire?" 

Once  only  had  he  met  her  face  to  face  on  the 
street,  many  men  marking  their  meeting.  Com- 
ing unexpectedly  upon  her  he  had  been  tugged  two 
ways  by  his  emotions,  a  division  and  sign  of  weak- 
ness which  was  no  usual  thing  in  him.  But  he  had 
caught  a  quick  expression  upon  her  face  in  time, 
and  had  seen  that  she  was  going  to  pass  him  with 
no  sign  of  recognition.  He  had  deliberately  turned 
his  back  upon  her.  He  had  heard  a  man  laugh, 
and  a  little  spurt  of  venomous  pleasure  leaped  up 
in  his  heart  as  he  knew  that  she  too  had  heard  and 
as  he  pictured  the  blood  whipped  into  her  face. 

And  now  again  he  came  upon  her  all  unex- 
pectedly; this  time  she  was  alone  and  there  were 
no  men  near  to  see.  He  stopped,  staring  down  at 
her  insolently.  She  was  sitting  upon  a  fallen  log, 
a  mile  from  the  Settlement-down  the  Little  Mac- 
Leod, her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  racing  water  with 
that  expression  which  tells  that  they  see  nothing  of 
what  is  before  them.    She  had  not  heard  him  un- 


120  WOLF  BREED 

tU  he  came  quite  close  to  her.  She  started  as 
she  looked  up,  ready  upon  the  instant  to  leap 
to  her  feet.  Then  she  settled  back  quite  calmly, 
an  insolence  in  her  eyes  not  unlike  his.  She  waited 
for  him  to  speak,  and  presently,  again  conscious 
of  the  tugging  two  ways,  he  did  so. 

"There's  a  man  in  camp  named  Charlie  Mad- 
den," he  said  with  a  viciousness  which  evidently 
puzzled  her  until  he  had  gone  on.  "You've  met 
him,  I  dare  say?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  coolly.  "He  asked  me  to 
have  dinner  with  him  last  night." 

Drennen's  laugh  jeered  at  her. 

"You  don't  burn  daylight,  do  you?"  he  sneered. 
"The  man  has  money;  he  is  young;  he  looks  quite 
the  pink-cheeked,  impressionable  pup,  as  good  as 
a  gilded  youth  on  Broadway.  How  did  he  accept' 
the  wonder  tale  of  the  virgin  purity  of  your  red 
lips,  Ygerne?" 

"I  didn't  accept  his  invitation,"  she  retorted  as 
coolly  as  before. 

"Why  not?"  he  said  sharply,  a  little  hotly. 
"Couldn't  you  tell  that  the  fool  has  money?" 

"I  didn't  like  him,"  she  said. 

"Ho,  you  didn't  like  him!"  His  tone  drove  a 
little  higher  colour  into  her  face,  but  she  kept  the 
serene  indifference  in  her  half-smile.  **But  you 
did  dine  with  me  .  .  .  because  you  liked  me,  no 
doubt!" 


THE  WITCHERY  OF  YGERNE     121 

**Let  us  say,"  she  replied  a  trifle  wearily,  her 
eyes  going  back  to  the  river,  "that  I  was  lonely; 
and  that  I  was  prepared  to  like  you,  Mr.  Dren- 
nen.'* 

He  found  himself  in  a  sudden  flaring  anger. 
The  anger  was  unreasonable,  but  it  but  burned  the 
hotter  for  all  that.  He  had  sought  to  take  a  joy 
out  of  being  brutal  to  the  girl,  just  why  he  was 
very  far  from  understanding.  Now  the  joy  did 
not  come  as  he  had  expected  it.  In  his  anger  there 
was  a  sense  of  insane  resentment  against  her  that 
she  was  just  a  girl,  not  a  man  as  he  would  have 
her  now  so  that  he  might  give  her  the  lie  and 
make  her  suffer  physically  by  beating  at  her  with 
his  hard  fists.  In  the  blind  rage  upon  him  he 
blamed  her  for  having  come  into  his  life  at  all  even 
though  she  were  merely  a  passing  figure  through 
a  little  corner  of  it.  The  years,  while  they  had 
brought  no  happiness  to  him,  had  at  least  given 
him  a  calm  indifference  to  all  things;  now  for 
many  days  and  nights  she  had  broken  that  calm. 
In  his  heart  he  cursed  her,  his  emotion  rising 
toward  a  fierce,  passionate  hatred. 

"In  hell's  name,"  he  cried  abruptly,  his  voice 
ringing  with  a  new  menace  in  it,  "what  are  you 
doing  here?  Why  don't  you  go  on?  What  are 
you  staying  here  for?  Is  the  world  so  damned 
small  that  you've  got  to  come  and  preen  yourself 
under  my  eyes?" 


122  WOLF  BREED 

For  a  moment  she  did  not  answer.  The  expres- 
sion in  the  eyes  turned  upon  him  changed  swiftly. 
There  was  a  quick  fear,  gone  in  a  flash  in  pure 
wonder.  All  this  he  saw  clearly  as  too  he  saw  a 
flicker  of  amusement.  And  back  of  the  amuse- 
ment which  maddened  him  were  other  things,  emo- 
tions hinted  darkly,  bafiling  him. 

*'The  other  day,"  she  said  steadily  in  the  face 
of  his  rage,  *'you  contented  yourself  by  command- 
ing me  to  take  myself  off  of  the  mountain  back 
there.  Now  you  request  me  to  get  out  of  Canada  ? 
Or  out  of  America?  Or  the  western  hemisphere, 
which  is  it?    And,  kind  sir,  why  is  it?" 

Looking  up  at  him,  to  show  him  how  little  he 
moved  her,  to  make  him  doubt  if  he  had  read 
aright  when  he  had  thought  it  was  fear  in  her 
eyes,  she  laughed.  The  laughter,  welling  up  softly, 
musically,  from  deep  in  the  round  white  throat,  the 
defiant  posture,  head  thrown  back,  something  of 
the  vague,  sweet  intimacy  in  it,  affected  him 
strangely.  His  face  reddened.  His  hands  shut 
spasmodically,  clenching  hard,  lifting  a  little  from 
his  sides.  Instinctively  she  drew  back,  her  own 
hand  slipping  into  her  bosom,  a  quick  flutter  of 
fear  in  her  heart  that  he  was  actually  going  to 
strike  her. 

"Why?"  His  lips  were  drawn  back  from  his 
teeth;  his  face  was  more  evil  in  the  grip  of 
the  passion  upon  him  than  she  had  ever  seen  it 


THE  WITCHERY  OF  YGERNE     123 

before;  his  voice  harsh  and  ugly.  "Because  you 
come  when  you  do  now,  a  thousand  years  too  soon 
or  a  dozen  years  too  late!  Because  I  hate  you  as 
I  have  never  learned  how  to  hate  a  man  no  mat- 
ter what  thing  he  had  done  I  I  don't  know  what 
there  is  in  me  that  is  stronger  than  I  am  and  that 
makes  me  keep  my  hands  off  your  throat.  Do 
you  know  what  you  have  done,  Ygerne,  with  the 
infernal  witchery  of  you?  You  have  made  me 
love  you,  me,  David  Drennen,  who  knows  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  love  in  a  rotten  world !  I  want 
you  in  my  arms;  I  want  to  kiss  that  red  mouth  of 
yours;  I  want  to  kill  any  man  who  so  much  as 
looks  at  you  I  My  life  was  as  I  would  have  it;  in 
a  few  days  I  would  be  a  rich  man  with  all  of  the 
power  of  a  rich  man;  .  .  .  and  then  you  came. 
Why  do  I  hate  you,  your  eyes,  your  mouth,  your 
body  and  your  brain?  Why?"  He  broke  off  in 
a  laugh  which  showed  what  his  wounds,  his  sick- 
ness, his  passion  had  done  for  him,  and  she  drew 
still  further  back  from  him,  shuddering.  "I  hate 
you.  ...  By  God !  because  youVe  made  of  me  a 
fool  like  the  others  I  because  you  have  made  me 
love  you  I" 

A  frenzy  of  delirium  was  upon  him.  She  did 
not  know  whether  the  man  were  sane  or  not;  he 
did  not  care.  But  he  knew  that  he  spoke  the 
truth.  Twice  had  he  yielded  to  her,  and  he  was 
not  the  man  to  yield  easily.     Once,  and  he  had 


124  WOLF  BREED 

thought  It  a  passing  light  mood,  when  he  had  let 
down  the  bars  for  her  to  come  in.  Now  that  reck- 
lessly he  flung  open  the  flood  gates  which  haJ 
dammed  his  own  emotions,  allowing  the  headlong 
torrent  to  sweep  away  everything  with  it.  It  was 
madness;  it  was  folly;  it  was  insanity  for  a  man 
like  David  Drennen  toilet  his  heart  be  snared 
out  of  him  by  the  girl  upon  whom  he  had  looked  so 
few  times.  And  yet,  be  it  what  else  it  might  be, 
it  was  the  simple  truth. 

"Laugh  at  me,  why  don't  you?"  snarled  the 
man,  little  beads  of  perspiration  gathered  on  his 
forehead.  *'0r  blush  and  stammer  any  of  the 
idiotic  things  which  a  woman  says  to  the  man  at 
the  moment  of  his  supreme  idiocy.  Or  flatter 
yourself  with  the  vanity  of  it.  Are  you  a  good 
woman  or  a  bad?  I  don't  know.  Are  you  gen- 
erous or  mean?  I  don't  know.  Are  you  loyal  and 
stanch  and  true — or  treacherous  and  contemptible  ? 
I  don't  know.  I  don't  know  a  thing  about  you, 
and  yet  I  let  you  slip  into  my  life  one  day  and  the 
next  rile  up  all  of  the  mud  which  was  settling  to 
the  bottom.  Go  and  brag  of  It  to  your  two  hang- 
dogs. But,  by  heaven,"  and  his  fist  smashed  down 
into  an  open  palm,  "you  and  your  dogs  keep  out 
of  my  way.  If  the  three  of  you  are  here  another 
twenty-four  hours  I'll  drive  them  out  and  with 
them  any  other  man  you  so  much  as  look  at!" 

He  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  grown  suddenly 


THE  WITCHERY  OF  YGERNE     125 

silent  and  white  faced.  He  lifted  his  arms  as 
though  he  would  sweep  her  up  Into  them.  Then 
he  dropped  them  so  that  they  fell  to  his  side  like 
dead  weights  and  swung  about,  turning  his  back 
upon  her,  going  swiftly  upstream  toward  the  Set- 
tlement. 

Across  the  river  came  the  call  of  a  robin.  A 
splash  of  blue  fire  In  the  willows  was  a  blue  bird's 
wing.  A  solitary  butterfly  made  a  half  circle  about 
him,  passing  close  to  him  as  though  to  beat  him 
back  with  its  delicate,  diaphanous  wings.  The 
pale  yellowish  buds  everywhere  were  changing  to 
a  lusty  verdant.  Air  and  grass  were  filled  with 
questing  insect  life  thrilling  upward  with  little 
voices.  The  snows  were  slipping,  slipping  from 
the  mountainsides,  the  waters  rising  in  river  and 
lake.  The  sap  was  astir  in  shrub  and  tree,  burst- 
ing upward  joyously.  Nature  had  breathed  her 
soft  command  to  all  of  the  North  Woods;  every 
creature  and  thing  of  life  in  the  North  Woods  had 
heard  the  call. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MERE  BRUTE   ...   OR  JUST  PLAIN  MAN? 

YGERNE,  sitting  very  still,  watched  Dren- 
nen  until  he  had  passed  around  a  bend  in  the 
river  and  was  lost  to  her  sight  behind  a  clump  of 
willows.  His  impassioned  outburst  had  been  too 
frenzied  not  to  have  moved  her  powerfully.  But 
the  expression  in  the  eyes  which  followed  him 
was  too  complex  to  give  any  key  to  the  one  emo- 
tion standing  above  the  others  in  her  breast.  When 
she  could  see  him  no  longer  she  rose  and  fol- 
lowed slowly. 

Because  the  course  of  the  Little  MacLeod  is 
full  of  twists  and  kinks,  spine  of  ridge  and  depres- 
sion of  ravine  thrusting  the  stream  aside  or  wel- 
coming It  closer,  she  had  no  further  view  of  him 
until  they  were  both  near  the  Settlement,  Drennen 
himself  already  abreast  of  the  first  building  at  this 
end  of  the  camp,  his  own  dugout.  She  thought 
that  he  was  going  to  stop  at  his  cabin;  then  she 
saw  that  he  had  passed  on.  She  had  suspected 
that  the  man  was  delirious  with  the  fever  upon 
him;  that  his  brain  had  reeled  from  the  impact 

126 


BRUTE  ...  OR  JUST  PLAIN  MAN?     127 

of  the  blows  showered  upon  it  and  had  staggered 
from  its  throne.  Now  the  suspicion  came  to  her 
that  Drennen  had  come  to  her  in  his  cups;  that 
the  thing  which  had  loosened  his  tongue  and  dis- 
torted his  vision  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
whiskey. 

He  was  lurching  as  he  walked,  but  bearing  on 
swiftly.  She  had  not  been  mistaken  when  she  had 
thought  that  he  had  turned  in  toward  his  cabin. 
But  in  this  his  action  had  been  involuntary.  He 
had  reeled,  had  paused  as  he  caught  and  steadied 
himself,  had  gone  on  drunkenly. 

There  were  a  score  of  men  up  and  down  the 
short  street.  Already  some  of  them  had  marked 
his  coming.  Ygerne  turned  hurriedly  to  the  left, 
put  the  line  of  houses  between  her  and  the  street, 
passing  back  doors  quickly  on  her  way  to  Pere 
Marquette's. 

Only  once  did  Drennen  stop.  He  ran  his  hand 
across  his  eyes  as  though  to  brush  away  some 
filmy  fogglness  of  vision.  There  was  impatience 
in  the  gesture.  With  a  little  grunt  of  satis- 
faction he  went  on.  He  had  seen  both  Lemarc 
and  Sefton  talking  with  other  men  half  way  up 
the  street. 

As  he  passed  Joe's  he  was  lurching  more  and 
more,  his  walk  grown  markedly  unsteady.  His 
eyes  were  flaming  and  growing  red;  his  face  was 
splotched  with  colour,  hot,  angry  colour;  he  was 


128  WOLF  BREED 

muttering  to  himself,  little  broken,  feverish,  il- 
logical outpourings  of  the  seething  passion  with- 
in him.  He  passed  three  men  who  were  lounging 
and  smoking.  He  did  not  turn  his  eyes  toward 
them.  They  were  the  three  big  mining  men,  Mad- 
den and  Hasbrook  and  Sothern.  They  saw  him, 
their  eyes  following  him  quickly,  each  man  with 
his  own  personal  interest. 

"Drunk,  eh?"  laughed  Charlie  Madden.  "Sup- 
pose we  draw  straws  to  see  who  takes  him  In 
tow!" 

Hasbrook's  sharp  featured  face  grew  shrewd  In 
speculation,  his  tongue  clicking  nervously.  Mar- 
shall Sothern's  shaggy  brows  lowered  a  bit;  Mad- 
den and  Hasbrook  had  looked  from  Drennen  to 
each  other  and  to  him;  he  alone  kept  his  eyes  hard 
upon  the  man  making  his  way  with  unsteady  stub- 
bornness up  the  street. 

When  a  man  stood  In  his  way  Drennen  thrust 
out  his  arm,  pushing  him  aside.  His  eyes  grew 
ever  the  more  terrible  with  the  madness  of  the 
rage  upon  him,  bloodshot  and  menacing.  They 
lost  Lemarc  and  Sefton,  wandered  uncertainly 
across  the  blurr  of  faces,  glowered  triumphantly 
as  again  they  found  the  men  he  sought. 

He  drew  up  with  a  little  jerk,  not  ten  steps  from 
the  two  men  who  as  usual  were  standing  close  to- 
gether. Such  had  been  the  strange  impressiveness 
of  his  approach  that  now  he  was  greeted  by  a  deep 


BRUTE  ...  OR  JUST  PLAIN  MAN?     129 

silence.  The  only  sound  was  his  own  hard  breath- 
ing, then  his  words  when  he  burst  out  violently. 

As  though  his  tongue  were  a  poisoned  whip  he 
lashed  them  with  it.  Burning  denunciation  ex- 
ploding within  his  heated  brain  was  flung  off  in 
words  to  bite  like  spraying  vitriol.  His  voice  rose 
higher,  shriller,  grown  more  and  more  discord- 
ant. He  cursed  them  until  the  blood  ran  into 
Lemarc's  cheeks  and  seeped  out  of  Sefton's.  And 
when  at  last  words  failed  and  he  choked  a  mo- 
ment he  flung  himself  upon  them,  bellowing  In- 
articulate, half-smothered  wrath. 

Men  drew  back  from  before  him.  It  was  not 
their  fight  and  they  knew  how  and  when  to  shrug 
their  shoulders  and  watch.  Lemarc,  running  his 
hand  under  his  coat  for  his  knife,  was  struck  down 
before  the  hand  could  come  in  sight  again.  Dren- 
nen's  searching  fist  had  found  the  man's  forehead 
and  the  sound  of  the  blow  was  like  a  hammer  beat- 
ing against  rock.  Either  Sefton  had  no  arms  upon 
him  or  had  not  the  time  to  draw.  He  could  only 
oppose  his  physical  strength  against  the  physical 
strength  of  a  man  who  was  an  Antaeus  from  the 
madness  and  blood  lust  upon  him.  Sefton's  white 
face  went  whiter,  chalky  and  sick  as  Drennen's 
long  arms  encircled  his  body.  Lemarc  was  rising 
slowly,  his  knife  at  last  in  his  hand  when  Sefton's 
body,  hurled  far  out,  struck  the  ground. 

Drennen   was   not   fighting  as   a   man    fights. 


I30  WOLF  BREED 

Rather  were  his  actions  those  of  some  enraged, 
cautionless  beast.  Rushing  at  Lemarc  he  beat 
fiercely  at  a  man  who  chanced  to  stand  in  his  way, 
and  the  man  went  down.  Lemarc  was  on  his 
feet  now,  his  knife  lifted.  And  yet  Drennen,  bare 
handed,  was  rushing  on  at  him.  Sefton  was  up 
too,  and  there  was  a  revolver  in  his  hand.  But 
Drennen,  snarling,  his  fury  blind  and  raging  high- 
er, took  no  heed  of  the  weapon's  menace.  The 
thing  in  Lemarc's  eyes,  in  Sefton's,  was  the  thing 
a  man  must  know  when  he  sees  it ;  and  yet  Dren- 
nen came  on. 

But  another  man  saw  and  understood  before  it 
was  too  late.  Marshall  Sothern  who  had  fol- 
lowed Drennen  with  long  strides,  was  now  close  to 
his  side.  The  old  man's  stalwart  form  moved 
swiftly,  coming  between  Drennen  and  Sefton. 
With  a  quickness  which  men  did  not  look  for  in  a 
man  of  his  age,  with  a  strength  which  drove  up 
from  those  who  saw  a  little  grunt  of  wonder,  he 
put  out  his  great  arms  so  that  they  were  about 
Drennen's  body,  below  his  shoulders,  catch- 
ing his  arms  and  holding  them  tight  against  his 
ribs. 

"Stop  I"  burst  out  Sothern's  deep-lunged  roar. 
"Can't  you  see  the  man  is  sick?  By  God,  I'll  kill 
any  man  who  lays  a  hand  on  him  1" 

Speaking  he  hurled  his  greater  weight  against 
Drennen,  driving  him  back.     Perhaps  just  then 


BRUTE  ...  OR  JUST  PLAIN  MAN?     131 

the  strength  began  to  run  out  of  the  younger  man's 
body;  or  perhaps  some  kindred  frenzy  was  upon 
Marshall  Sothern.  Drennen,  struggling  and  curs- 
ing, gave  back ;  back  another  step ;  and  then,  wilt- 
ing like  a  cut  flower,  went  down,  the  old  man  fall- 
ing with  and  upon  him.  As  they  fell  Drennen  lay 
still,  his  eyes  roving  wonderingly  from  face  to  face 
of  the  men  crowding  over  him.  Then  his  gaze 
came  curiously  to  the  face  so  near  his  own,  the 
stern,  powerful  face  of  Sothern.  An  odd  smile 
touched  Drennen's  lips  fleetingly;  he  put  out  a 
freed  arm  so  that  it  fell  about  Sothern's  shoulders, 
his  eyes  closed  and  consciousness  went  out  of  him 
with  a  sigh. 

*'Bring  him  over  to  Marquette's." 

It  was  Charlie  Madden's  voice.  Madden  and 
Hasbrook  were  crowding  their  way  close  to  the 
two  men  in  the  centre  of  the  group,  but  little  be- 
hind Sothern  in  keeping  their  eyes  upon  the  man 
because  of  whom  they  were  here,  for  whom  they 
were  prepared  to  fight  jealously. 

*'StandbackI" 

Sothern's  answer.  He  had  risen,  stooped  a 
litfle,  gathered  Drennen  up  in  his  arms.  After 
the  way  of  men  at  such  a  time  there  was  no  giving 
back,  rather  a  growing  denseness  of  the  packed 
throng. 

"Don't  you  hear  me?"  boomed  Sothern  angrily. 
*'I  say  stand  backl" 


132  WOLF  BREED 

Those  directly  in  front  of  him,  under  his  eyes, 
drew  hesitantly  aside,  stepping  obediently  to  right 
or  left.  Carrying  his  burden  with  a  strength  equal 
to  that  of  a  young  Kootanie  George,  Marshall 
Sothern  made  his  way  through  the  narrow  lane 
they  made  for  him.  But  he  did  not  turn  toward 
Pere  Marquette's. 

*'Where  are  you  taking  him?"  demanded  Mad- 
den suspiciously,  again  forcing  his  way  to  Sothern's 
elbow.     "That's  not  the  way  .  .  ." 

^'I'm  taking  him  to  his  own  home,"  said  Sothern 
calmly.    "The  only  home  he's  got,  his  dugout." 

"Oho,"  cried  Madden,  suspicion  giving  place  to 
certainty  and  open  accusation,  while  Hasbrook, 
combing  at  his  beard,  was  muttering  in  a  like  tone. 
"You'll  take  him  off  to  yourself,  will  you  ?  Where 
you  can  do  as  you  damned  please  with  him?  Not 
much." 

Marshall  Sothern  merely  shook  his  head  and 
moved  on,  thrusting  Madden  to  one  side  with  his 
heavy  shoulder.  He  was  carrying  Drennen  as 
one  might  carry  a  baby,  an  arm  about  the  shoul- 
ders, an  arm  under  the  knees.  Men  offered  to 
help  him  but  he  paid  no  heed  to  them.  Leonine 
the  man  always  looked ;  to-day  he  looked  the  lion 
bearing  off  a  wounded' whelp  to  its  den. 

Expostulating,  Madden  dogged  his  heels,  the 
rest  following.  Lemarc  and  Sefton,  speaking  to- 
gether, had  dropped  far  behind;  Hasbrook  was 


BRUTE  ...  OR  JUST  PLAIN  MAN?     133 

close  to  Madden's  elbow.  So  they  passed  down 
the  street.  Ygerne  Bellaire,  standing  now  in  front 
of  Marquette's,  watched  them  wonderingly. 

Sothern  came  first  to  the  dugout.  The  door 
being  open,  he  passed  in  without  stopping.  He 
laid  the  inert  form  down  gently  and  came  back 
to  the  door. 

'*Well?"  he  demanded,  his  steady  eyes  going 
to  Madden. 

Madden  laughed  sneeringly. 

"If  you  think  Fm  going  to  stand  for  a  high- 
handed play  like  this,"  he  jeered,  "you're  damned 
well  mistaken.  You're  not  the  only  man  who's 
got  an  interest  in  him.  He  doesn't  belong  to  you, 
old  man." 

"They'd  have  killed  him  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
me,"  returned  Sothern  imperturbably.  "Until  he's 
on  his  feet  and  in  his  mind  again  he  does  belong 
to  me.  We  haven't  the  pleasure  of  knowing  each 
other  very  well,  Charlie.  But  I  can  give  you  my 
word  that  when  I  say  a  thing  I  mean  it.  If  you 
don't  believe  it  .  .  .  start  something." 

He  stepped  outside,  closing  the  door  after  him 
softly.  Fle  brought  out  his  pipe,  knocked  the  dead 
tobacco  from  it  and  filled  it  afresh,  lighting  it  be- 
fore Madden  and  Hasbrook,  consulting  together 
in  an  undertone,  had  found  anything  to  say.  His 
eyes  were  calm  and  steady;  there  was  even  a  hint 
of  a  smile  in  them  as  they  rested  upon  Madden's 


134  WOLF  BREED 

eager,  angry  face.  There  had  been  no  threat  in 
his  last  words.     But  he  had  meant  them. 

There  was  but  one  door  to  the  dugout;  it  was 
closed,  and  more  than  that,  Marshall  Sothern 
stood  calmly  in  front  of  it.  Drennen  was  inside 
and  he  was  going  to  stay  there.  Madden  mut- 
tered something;  Sothern  lifted  his  brows  enquir- 
ingly and  Madden  did  not  repeat.  The  situation 
being  neither  without  interest  or  humour,  some  of 
the  men  laughed.  Madden  considered  swiftly: 
Drennen  was  unconscious ;  Sothern  could  do  noth- 
ing with  him  immediately.  He  drew  Hasbrook 
aside  and  the  two  went  slowly  up  the  street. 

Sothern  beckoned  a  man  he  knew  in  the  crowd, 
a  little  fellow  named  Jimmie  Andrews. 

*'Get  a  horse,"  he  said  quietly.  *T  want  you  to 
carry  a  couple  of  letters  to  Lebarge  for  me.  If 
you  can't  get  a  horse  any  other  way  buy  one.  Come 
back  as  soon  as  youVe  ready  to  start.  I'll  have 
the  letters  ready." 

He  turned  back  into  the  dugout,  closed  the  door 
and  dropped  the  wooden  bar  into  place.  Jimmie 
Andrews  went  hastily  after  a  horse  and  twenty 
minutes  later  rode  out  of  MacLeod's  Settlement, 
headed  for  the  railroad.  He  carried  a  letter  to 
the  Superintendent  of  the  Northwestern.  The 
second  letter  was  addressed  to  Dr.  Thos.  Levitt. 

During  the  two  days  which  followed  the  Settle- 
ment went  tip-toe.     No  man  of  them  saw  David 


BRUTE  ...  OR  JUST  PLAIN  MAN?     135 

Drennen  except  now  and  then  through  the  door 
when  Marshall  Sothern  had  opened  it  for  the 
warm  midday  air.  There  were  men  in  the  street 
who  offered  wagers  that  he  was  going  to  die 
and,  what  was  more  to  the  point,  that  he  would 
die  without  telling  where  he  had  found  gold. 
Sothern  ministered  to  him  day  and  night, 
letting  no  one  in,  having  his  own  meals  sent  here, 
sitting  by  the  bunk  or  at  the  doorstep,  smoking. 
When  a  passer-by  asked,  "How's  he  gettin' 
along?"  Sothern's  answer  was  always  the  same: 
''Slowly." 

Drennen  had  been  through  much  privation  and 
hardship  before  his  discovery,  severe  bodily  pun- 
ishment and  fatigue  thereafter.  On  top  of  physi- 
cal suffering  had  been  imposed  the  mental  stress, 
the  veritable  mad  agony  and  strife  of  the  dual 
emotions  which  Ygerne  had  inspired  In  him.  It 
was  in  the  cards  that  he  should  come  near  death; 
but  that  he  should  not  die.  A  man's  destiny  is 
characterised  at  times  by  an  Instinct  of  savagery; 
It  tortures  him  until  his  sense  of  pain  Is  dulled  and 
lost  in  unconsciousness;  then  It  lets  him  grow 
strong  again  for  fresh  tortures. 

After  the  forty-eight  hours  had  passed  Jimmie 
Andrews  had  returned  bringing  the  physician  with 
him.  Dr.  Levitt  had  stayed  twenty-four  hours  and 
had  gone  again,  saying  that  there  was  nothing  for 
him  to  do  that  Sothern  could  not  do  as  well.    He 


136  WOLF  BREED 

rather  thought  that  Drennen's  beautiful  physique 
would  pull  him  through.  But  It  would  take  time, 
careful  attention,  rest  and  properly  administered 
nourishment. 

*'Can't  you  get  a  woman  to  help?"  he  asked  as 
he  was  going.  "I  don't  give  a  damn  what  kind 
she  Is.  One  fool  of  a  woman  Is  worth  a  dozen 
men  at  times  like  this."  He  pocketed  his  fee,  be- 
stowed upon  Sothern  a  gratuitous  wink  with  the 
words,  ''I  guess  it's  a  good  investment  for  you, 
eh?  Madden  and  Hasbrook  look  as  sore  as  saddle 
boils." 

Drennen  slept  much  but  restlessly.  When  he 
was  awake  he  stared  with  clouded,  troubled  eyes  at 
the  smoke-blackened  ceiling  or  out  of  the  door  at 
the  willows  or  Into  Sothern's  rugged  face.  His 
fever  raged  high,  his  body  burning  with  it,  his 
brain  a  turbulent  melting  pot  wherein  strange 
fancies  passed  through  odd,  vaporous  forms.  He 
confused  events  of  a  far-off  childhood  with  occur- 
rences of  yesterday.  He  was  a  little  boy,  gone 
black-berrying,  and  Ygerne  Bellaire  went  with 
him.  His  dugout  was  a  cabin  in  the  Yukon  where 
he  had  lived  a  year,  or  it  was  a  speeding  train 
carrying  him  away  from  an  old  home  and  into  the 
wilderness.  There  were  times  when  Marshall 
Sothern,  bending  over  him,  was  an  enemy,  tortur- 
ing him.  Times  when  the  old  man  was  his  own 
father  and  Drennen  put  out  his  hands  to  him,  his 


BRUTE  ...  OR  JUST  PLAIN  MAN?     137 

face  alight.  Times  when  the  sick  man  cursed  and 
reviled  him.  Times  when  he  broke  into  shouting 
song  or  laughter  or  raved  of  his  gold.  But  most 
often  did  he  speak  the  name  Ygerne;  now  ten- 
derly, now  sneeringly,  now  with  a  love  that 
yearned,  now  a  hatred  which  shook  him  terribly 
and  left  him  exhausted. 

The  doctor  had  gotten  back  to  Lebarge  before 
Marshall  Sothern  sent  for  Ygerne.  She  came 
without  delay. 

**This  man  is  very  sick,"  he  told  her,  bending 
a  searching  look  at  her  from  under  brows  shaggy 
in  thought.  '*He  talks  of  you  very  much.  Does 
he  love  you  or  does  he  hate  you?" 

She  looked  at  him  coolly,  her  gaze  defying  him 
to  pry  into  matters  which  did  not  concern  him. 
He  understood  the  look  and  said  calmly: 

"I  want  him  to  get  well.  There  are  reasons 
why  he  has  got  to  get  well." 

"I  know,"  she  laughed  at  him.  **Good,  golden 
reasons!" 

*'If  he  loves  you,  as  I  have  a  mind  he  does," 
Sothern  went  on  quietly,  *T  think  that  you  could 
do  more  to  help  him  than  any  one  else.  If  he  hates 
you  you  might  do  more  harm  than  good.  That  is 
why  I  asked." 

"He  is  delirious?" 

"A  great  deal  of  the  time;  not  always." 

Her  brows  puckered  thoughtfully. 


138  WOLF  BREED 

*'I  think,"  she  said  at  last,  "that  he  loves  me 
and  hates  me  .  .  .  both  I  But  I'll  come  in  and  see 
if  I  can  be  of  any  help.  I,  too,  have  good  reasons 
for  wanting  him  to  live." 

So  the  door  to  Drennen's  dugout  was  opened  to 
Ygerne  Bellaire.  But  to  no  one  else  in  the  Settle- 
ment; Marshall  Sothern  saw  to  that.  Madden 
came,  Hasbrook  came ;  but  they  did  not  get  their 
feet  across  the  rude  threshold.  They  grumbled. 
Madden  in  particular.  They  accused  Sothern  of 
taking  an  unfair  advantage;  of  keeping  the  de- 
lirious man  under  his  own  eye  and  ear  that  he 
might  seek  to  steal  his  secret  from  him;  of  plot- 
ting with  Ygerne  to  aid  in  the  same  end.  But, 
say  what  they  might  outside,  they  did  not  come 
in. 

"We'll  see  which  is  the  greater,  his  love  for 
me  or  his  hate,"  the  girl  had  said.  She  sat  down 
by  the  bed,  laying  her  hand  softly  upon  the  bared 
arm  which  Drennen  had  flung  out.  He  turned, 
looking  at  her  with  frowning  eyes.  In  silence  she 
waited.  Sothern,  standing  by  the  door,  his  eyes 
watchful  as  they  passed  back  and  forth  from  her 
face  to  Drennen's,  was  silent.  For  a  score  of  sec- 
onds Drennen's  gaze  was  unfaltering.  Then,  with 
a  little  sigh,  he  drew  her  hand  close  to  him,  rested 
his  cheek  against  it  and  went  to  sleep.  Sothern, 
looking  now  at  the  girl's  face,  ^aw  it  flush  as 
though  with  pleasure. 


BRUTE  ...  OR  JUST  PLAIN  MAN?     139 

Now  she  was  at  the  dugout  almost  as  much  as 
Marshall  Sothern.  The  long  hours  of  the  day- 
she  spent  at  the  bedside,  going  to  her  own  room 
only  when  it  grew  dark.  And  even  in  the  night, 
once  Sothern  sent  for  her.  Drennen  had  called 
for  her;  had  grown  violent  when  she  was  denied 
to  him  and  would  not  be  quieted  when  Sothern 
sought  to  reason  with  him.  So  Ygerne,  dressing 
hurriedly,  her  sweater  about  her,  came. 

*'Why  do  you  come  to  me  that  way?" 

Drennen  had  lifted  himself  upon  his  elbow,  call- 
ing out  angrily. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked  wondering. 

"In  that  miserable  sweater !"  he  cried.  "That's 
good  enough  for  other  women,  not  for  you." 

And  he  made  her  go  back  and  put  on  the  dress 
she  had  worn  that  night  when  she  had  dined  with 
him.  She  argued  with  him  but  he  Insisted.  He 
would  have  none  of  her  In  her  sweater. 

"Oh,  well,"  she  said,  and  went  out.  Sothern 
thought  that  she  had  gone  for  good.  His  eyes 
narrowed  and  stared  speculatively  when  In  a  little 
she  came  in  again.  Drennen  smiled,  openly  ap- 
proved of  the  Ygerne  whom  he  had  sought  to  kiss, 
took  her  hands,  kissed  them  and  holding  them 
grew  quiet. 

He  grew  stronger  almost  steadily  after  that. 
He  had  much  fever  and  delirium,  but  his  wounds 
healed  and  he  ceased  to  lose  ground  as  he  had 


140  WOLF  BREED 

been  doing.  In  his  ravings  he  made  much  pas- 
sionate love  to  Ygerne,  his  tones  running  from  the 
gentleness  of  supplication  to  the  flame  of  hot 
avowal.  In  lucid  moments  of  sanity  he  accepted 
her  presence  as  a  quite  natural  condition,  too  ut- 
terly exhausted  by  the  periods  of  delirium  through 
which  he  had  passed  to  ask  questions.  A  few 
times,  indeed,  he  railed  at  her  as  he  had  done 
when  he  had  come  upon  her  on  the  river  bank. 
But  for  the  most  part  his  attitude  answered  over 
and  over  the  question  Ygerne  had  implied  when 
first  she  had  come  to  his  side ;  his  love  was  greater 
than  his  hate. 

Then  there  came  a  day  when  David  Drennen 
was  the  old  David  Drennen  once  more.  He  awoke 
with  clear  eyes  and  clear  brain.  He  saw  both 
Marshall  Sothern  and  Ygerne  Bellaire.  He  closed 
his  eyes  swiftly.  He  must  think.  As  he  thought, 
remembering  a  little,  guessing  more,  a  hard  smile, 
the  old  bitter  smile  came  to  his  lips.  He  opened 
his  eyes  again  and  lifted  himself  upon  his  elbow. 
The  eyes  which  met  Sothern's  were  as  hard  as 
steel;  they  ignored  the  girl  entirely. 

"Fve  been  sick?"  he  said  coolly.  "Well,  I'm 
not  sick  any  longer.  In  a  day  or  so  I'll  be  around 
again.    Then  I'll  pay  you  for  your  trouble.'* 

And  seeing  from  the  look  in  Sothern's  eyes  that 
the  rude  insult  had  registered  he  laughed  and 
turned  his  face  away  from  them.    Sothern  and  the 


BRUTE  ...  OR  JUST  PLAIN  MAN?     141 

girl  stepped  outside   together,  without  a  word. 

"He  is  just  plain  brute  I"  the  girl  cried  with  pas- 
sionate contempt. 

The  old  man  shook  his  head  gravely.  He  laid 
his  hand  very  gently  upon  her  shoulder,  his  un- 
expected familiarity  drawing  a  quick  questioning 
look  from  her. 

''Little  girl,'*  he  said  thoughtfully,  "he's  just 
plain  man,  that's  all;  man  hammered  and  beaten 
awry  by  the  vicious  little  gods  of  mischance.  If 
there's  anything  good  left  in  him  it's  his  love  for 
you.  There  is  a  time  coming  when  I  am  going 
to  wield  the  destinies  of  one  of  the  greatest  cor- 
porations in  the  West.  My  responsibility  then, 
compared  to  yours  now,  will  be  as  a  grain  of  sand 
to  Old  Ironhead  up  yonder." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ygerne's  answer 

"The  perfume  of  roses,  of  little  red  roses; 

(Thou  art  a  rose,  oh,  so  sweet,  corazonf)" 
The  laugh  of  the  water  who  falls  in  the  fountain; 

(Thou  art  the  fountain  of  love,  corazon!) 
The  brightness  of  stars,  of  little  stars  golden; 

{Estrella  de  mi  vida!    My  little  life  star!) 
The  shine  of  the  moon  through  the  magnolia  tree; 

I  am  so  sad  till  thou  come,  mi  amor! 
Diosf  It  is  sweet  to  be  young  and  to  love ! 

More  sweet  than  wine  ...  to  be  young  and  to  love !" 

THERE  was  tenderness  in  the  voice.     Each 
note  was  like  the  pure  sound  of  a  little  gold 
bell  struck  softly  with  a  tiny  golden  hammer. 

There  had  been  determination  in  David  Dren- 
nen's  eye,  in  his  carriage,  in  his  stride  which  swiftly 
bore  him  onward  through  the  early  night  from  his 
own  dugout  toward  the  old  Frenchman's  store. 
Not  fifty  steps  from  Marquette's  he  stopped 
abruptly,  listening  to  the  soft  singing.  It  was  not 
so  dark  that  he  could  not  make  out  the  slender, 

142 


YGERNE'S  ANSWER  143 

exquisite  form  of  the  young  Mexican.  Ramon 
Garcia,  wrapped  about  in  his  long  coat  like  a 
cavalier  in  a  graceful  cloak,  his  face  lifted  a  little, 
his  head  bared,  was  close  to  a  certain  window 
of  Pere  Marquette's.  Drennen  knew  whose  win- 
dow. 

With  no  conscious  desire  to  eavesdrop,  merely 
stopped  by  an  unforeseen  contingency,  Drennen 
stood  still.  Garcia,  his  eyes  upon  a  line  of  light 
under  the  window  shade,  did  not  see  him.  It  was 
hardly  more  than  an  instant  that  Drennen  stood 
there,  watching;  but  the  little  drama  was  enacted 
before  he  moved  on. 

Slowly,  while  the  last  notes  were  fainting  away 
plaintively,  the  window  was  raised.  Drennen  saw 
Ygerne  Bellaire,  half  in  light,  half  in  shadow. 
She  leaned  out.  She  was  laughing  softly.  Garcia, 
his  bow  carrying  to  the  ground  his  hat  which  in  the 
dim  light  appeared  to  Drennen's  fancy  to  wear 
the  black  plume  which  would  not  have  been  mis- 
placed there,  came  closer  to  the  window.  Upon 
the  girl's  face  was  a  gaiety  Drennen  had  not  seen 
there  until  now;  her  lips  curved  to  it,  her  eyes 
danced  with  it.  She  had  a  little  meadow  flower 
in  her  hand;  Drennen  wondered  if  she  had  been 
eagerly  selecting  it  from  a  cluster  of  its  fellows 
while  Garcia  sang. 

"You  are  not  real,  senor,"  she  said  lightly.  "I 
wonder  if  you  know  that?" 


144  WOLF  BREED 

"It  is  you  .  .  ."  he  began,  his  voice  charged 
with  the  music  about  which  the  man's  soul  was 
builded. 

"No,  no,*'  she  laughed.  "You  are  not  real. 
You  have  just  wandered  out  of  an  old  romance 
like  a  ghost ;  when  the  sun  comes  up  you'll  have  to 
creep  back  between  dusty  covers  of  a  book  a  hun- 
dred years  old." 

He  put  out  a  hand  towards  hers  on  the  win- 
dow sill. 

"Give  me  the  little  flower,"  he  pleaded,  south- 
ern lover-wise.  "I  shall  never  let  it  go  away  from 
its  place  on  my  heart,  though  I  fear,"  and  his 
hand  crept  a  little  closer,  "that  my  heart  will  burst 
with  the  joy  of  it!" 

The  little  meadow  flower  went  from  her  fingers 
to  his. 

"A  flower  for  your  song,  senor.  A  poor  little 
flower  which  should  have  golden  petals." 

"Living,"  he  murmured,  no  heights  or  depths 
of  sentiment  seeming  beyond  him,  "it  shall  always 
be  with  me,  a  joy  so  sweet  that  it  almost  kills. 
Dead,  I  shall  be  happy  just  to  wear  it." 

She  laughed  as  he  caught  her  hand  and  kissed 
it.  The  window  closed  softly,  the  shade  was 
drawn  down,  and  Ramon  Garcia,  hat  still  in  one 
hand,  the  flower  in  the  other,  passed  down  the 
street,  still  singing  in  a  gentle  undertone.  Dren- 
nen  turned  abruptly  at  right  angles  to  the  way  he 


YGERNE'S  ANSWER  145 

had  come  and  passed  out  of  the  Settlement  Into 
the  darkness  under  the  trees. 

Swiftness  and  determination  had  gone  out  of 
his  stride.  Unconsciously  he  allowed  his  feet  to 
carry  him  along  a  well  known  trail  which  led  along 
the  flank  of  the  wooded  slope.  Once  or  twice  he 
stopped.  Then  again  he  moved  on,  always  further 
from  the  Settlement. 

He  was  well  again  and  strong.  Rest  and  na- 
ture had  done  all  they  could  for  him  In  a  handful 
of  long,  quiet  days.  He  was  still  twenty  pounds 
lighter  than  he  should  be  normally,  but  he  had 
both  feet  firmly  set  In  a  smooth  highway  of  con- 
valescence. The  mental  and  spiritual  roadways 
were  not  so  smooth  or  straight. 

He  had  seen  much  of  Ygerne  of  late.  He  had 
come  to  know  that,  wise  man  or  fool,  he  loved  her. 
They  had  met  frequently,  at  Joe's,  upon  the  short 
street.  In  their  walks  up  and  down  the  river.  They 
had  not  spoken  of  all  that  had  gone  before 
and  there  had  been  as  much  silence  as  talk  between 
them.  He  continued  to  tell  himself  coolly  that  he 
knew  nothing  of  her,  that  she  might  be  good  or 
bad,  loyal  or  treacherous.  But  he  knew  that  he 
did  not  hate  her  and  that  he  did  love  her.  He 
knew  that  he  was  not  angry  because  she  had  come 
Into  his  life  but  that  he  was  glad. 

He  knew  to-night  that  his  whole  spiritual  being 
was  made  simply  of  two  elements :  of  love,  which 


146  WOLF  BREED 

is  a  white  flame  in  a  man  like  Drennen ;  of  jealousy, 
which  is  a  black  shadow.  He  had  been  on  his 
way  to  her,  his  mind  made  up  that  he  would  not 
sleep  without  telling  her  of  his  love.  The  sight  of 
Garcia  had  halted  him.  Garcia's  singing  to  her 
had  awakened  a  fierce  anger  within  him ;  his  flesh 
had  twitched  and  something  had  seemed  to  sear 
hot  through  it  as  Garcia's  lips  touched  her  hand. 

Now  he  tried  to  look  at  these  matters  calmly. 
He  knew  that  In  the  fury  which  had  sent  him  at 
Lemarc  and  Sefton  before  Marshall  Sothern  had 
gathered  up  his  limp  body  the  driving  force  had 
been  jealousy.  He  knew  that  even  then,  in  his 
delirium,  he  wanted  her  all  to  himself. 

Less  than  a  month  had  passed  since  first  he 
had  seen  her  and  he  did  not  now  know  what 
manner  of  woman  she  was.  But  he  did  know  that 
that  does  not  matter.  His  fate  had  driven  him 
Into  the  North  Woods  ten  years  ago  that  he  might 
be  here  when  she  came ;  her  destiny  had  brought 
her  to  MacLeod's  Settlement  from  New  Orleans 
to  him.  Because  the  greatest  of  all  laws  lies  hid- 
den under  a  clutter  of  little  things  that  law  is 
none  the  less  great  or  real.  He  had  grown  to  see 
as  a  miraculous  manifestation  of  this  law  even  the 
fact  that  he  and  Ygerne  Bellaire  had  been  born  in 
the  same  generation.  .  .  .  Stern-minded  men  of 
science,  whose  creed  Is  to  doubt  all  things  until 
they  are  proven  In  such  wise  as  an  objective  brain 


YGERNE'S  ANSWER  147 

can  accept  them  as  incontrovertible,  see  no  miracle 
in  the  fact  that  a  certain  female  moth,  left  alone 
upon  a  mountain  top,  will  draw  to  herself  a  male 
mate  from  mountainous  miles  away.  Even  in  the 
insect  world  there  is  a  silent  call  which  is  a  voice 
of  destiny.  Omnipotence  is  not  above  concerning 
itself  with  the  embrace  of  two  tiny,  fragile-winged 
creatures  in  the  darkness  of  the  solitudes.  Surely 
there  is  an  urge  and  yearning  of  human  souls  which 
knows  not  distance  and  obstacles,  which  brings  to- 
gether man  and  his  mate. 

These  were  strange,  new  thoughts  to  David 
Drennen  and  yet  they  came  naturally  as  an  old 
knowledge  set  aside,  half  forgotten,  ultimately 
vividly  recalled.  He  loved  Ygerne ;  she  must  love 
him.  Therein  alone  could  lie  the  explanation  of 
his  presence  here  and  of  hers.  When  he  had  quit- 
ted his  dugout  this  evening  there  had  been  more 
than  determination  in  his  heart;  there  had  been 
confidence. 

And  now?  He  wandered  aimlessly.  Deter- 
mination and  confidence  had  both  left  him.  Garcia 
had  sung  to  her  and  the  singing  had  pleased.  Gar- 
cia had  made  love  to  her  in  his  song  and  she  had 
thrown  open  her  window.  Garcia  had  kissed  her 
hand  and  she  had  given  him  a  flower. 

Deep  in  his  troubled  thoughts  Drennen  had 
stopped  a  third  time.  He  was  in  thick  shadow  and 
saw  two  figures  that  had  followed  him.    He  made 


148  WOLF  BREED 

out  that  here  were  Lemarc  and  Sefton  as  they 
came  on,  cautiously  and  silently.  This  thing  was 
to  be  expected;  these  men  were  plucking  with 
greedy  fingers  as  fortune's  robe  and  for  such  as 
they  he  was  one  to  be  watched.  He  saw  them 
pass  on  along  the  trail;  his  still  form  In  the  shad- 
ows was  blotted  out  from  them  by  the  tall  boles 
of  the  trees.  His  eyes  followed  them  a  moment, 
then  lost  them.  Already  he  had  forgotten  them. 
His  thoughts  went  back  to  Ygeme  Bellaire,  to  the 
scene  at  the  window. 

The  moon  pushed  a  great  golden  disc  up  over 
the  ridge.  It  was  at  the  full  and  made  glorious 
patterns  of  light  through  the  forest.  Little  voices 
of  the  night  which  he  had  not  heard  until  now  be- 
gan to  thrill  and  quiver  under  the  soft  light.  It 
was  as  though  the  North  Woods  were  filled  with  a 
secret,  pigmy  people  who  were  moon  worshippers; 
as  though  now  they  greeted  their  goddess  with  an 
elfin  chant  of  praise. 

A  strange  sadness  fastened  Itself  upon  the  man. 
The  beauty  of  the  night  touched  him  deeply.  It 
brought  with  its  stillness  an  unaccustomed  emotion 
of  melancholy.  He  was  suddenly  lonely.  The 
night  was  rarely  perfect  and  yet  it  wanted  some- 
thing. It  was  complete  yet  it  was  empty.  The 
moonrise,  the  golden  glory  of  stars  set  against 
the  soft  bosom  of  the  sky,  brought  a  sense  of 
lack  of  something.     It  touched  the  soul  and  yet 


YGERNE'S  ANSWER  149 

did  not  satisfy.  It  awoke  a  sort  of  soul  thirst  and 
hunger  in  him.  Upon  him  was  the  old  yearning, 
the  yearning  of  the  man  for  his  mate,  that  longing 
experienced  never  so  poignantly  as  In  a  spot  like 
this  where  a  man  is  alone  with  the  woodland. 

Dimly  conscious  of  many  emotions  mingled  and 
confused,  David  Drennen  was  keenly  awake  to 
the  sweeping  alteration  which  a  few  days  had 
effected  in  him.  Not  that  he  fully  understood  that 
which  he  recognised.  He  was  inclined  to  look 
upon  himself  as  a  different  man;  like  many  a  man 
before  him  whom  love  or  hate,  a  great  joy  or  a 
great  disaster,  had  appeared  to  make  over,  he 
was  but  experiencing  the  sensation  resultant  from 
the  emancipation  of  a  certain  portion  of  his  being 
which  had  existed  always  until  now  in  a  state  of 
bondage,  silent  and  hidden. 

He  stood  a  long  time,  very  still.  So  motion- 
less that  when  the  moon  had  driven  the  shadows 
back  and  found  him  out  he  looked  a  brother  to  the 
inanimate  objects  about  him.  But  when  at  last  he 
moved,  while  slowly,  it  was  without  hesitation. 
He  was  going  to  Ygerne. 

Marquette's  store  was  closed,  the  doors  locked. 
There  was  a  light  from  Ygerne*s  window,  another 
light  from  a  second  window,  Madden's  room. 
Drennen  passed  about  the  house  and  came  to  the 
door  of  the  living  room.  There  was  no  light 
shining  under  the  door,  but  he  knocked.    In  a  little 


150  WOLF  BREED 

Mere  Jeanne,  a  wrap  thrown  about  her,  came  in 
answer. 

*'May  I  see  Miss  Bellaire?"  he  said  simply. 
*'WiIl  you  tell  her  that  It  is  important?'* 

Mere  Jeanne  looked  at  him  shrewdly,  with 
little  hesitation  made  up  her  mind  that  he  came 
as  a  lover,  left  him  at  the  door  and  went  to  the 
girl.  A  moment  later  Ygerne  entered  the  little 
living  room.  Drennen  stepped  across  the 
threshold. 

"I  wanted  to  talk  with  you,"  he  said  gravely. 

The  girl  shot  a  quick,  curious  look  at  him  and 
went  to  a  chair. 

*'WI11  you  come  outside  with  me?'*  he  asked 
quietly.  "It  is  quite  a  private  matter.  We  can 
walk  up  and  down  In  the  moonlight,  just  out- 
side." 

A  moment  she  seemed  to  hesitate.  Then  she 
shook  her  head. 

*'We  are  alone  here,"  she  replied.  "What  is 
it?" 

"It  is  many  things,  Ygerne."  He  closed  the 
outside  door  and  stood  with  his  back  to  it,  his  eyes 
very  steady  upon  hers.  A  sudden  pulsing  of  blood 
coursed  through  him  but  he  held  himself  steady, 
forcing  his  voice  to  remain  grave  and  quiet.  "To 
begin  with  I  want  to  apologise  to  you  for  having 
been  a  brute  to  you  since  I  first  saw  you.  If  you 
can't  find  it  in  your  heart  to  make  any  excuses  for 


YGERNE'S  ANSWER  151 

me  at  least  you  can  know  that  I  am  both  sorry  and 
ashamed  of  myself." 

Again  she  shot  that  quick,  questioning  glance  at 
him.  She  felt  as  he  had  felt:  *'This  is  some  new 
David  Drennen." 

*Tou  know  me  pretty  well,"  he  went  on.  **Bet- 
ter  than  I  know  you,  I  think.  I  am  a  man  whose 
name  has  been  dragged  through  a  lot  of  muck 
and  mire.  I  am  the  son  of  a  thief.  My  father  was 
without  honour.  God  knows  how  good  or  how 
bad  I  am.  My  life  for  ten  years  has  been  an  ugly 
thing,  a  good  deal  more  evil  than  good.  If  you 
are  the  sort  of  woman  I  like  to  think  you  are,  then 
I  suppose  that  my  presence  here  is  little  less  than 
an  insult  to  you,  though  God  knows  I  don't  mean 
it  to  be." 

He  paused.  She  watched  him  as  before,  save 
that  now  a  quick  light  of  understanding  had  come 
into  her  eyes,  a  faint  flush  to  her  cheeks.  Like 
Mere  Jeanne,  she  had  glimpsed  the  lover  in  the 
man — he  couldn't  know  that  already  he  had 
told  her  all  that  he  had  come  to  say;  but  she 
knew. 

**I  told  you  the  truth  the  other  day,  Ygerne. 
That  day  when  I  went  mad.  I  love  you.  I'd  like 
to  be  another  sort  of  man,  a  better  sort,  coming 
to  tell  you  this.  But  if  I  were  a  better  man  I 
couldn't  love  you  any  better." 

Despite  the  surety  that  the  words  were  coming 


153  WOLF  BREED 

they  must  have  brought  a  little  shock  to  her.  She 
rose  swiftly,  her  hands  coming  up  from  her  sides 
until  they  clasped  each  other  in  front  of  her. 

*'I  didn't  believe  in  love  until  you  came,  Ygerne. 
I  have  never  seen  such  a  thing  in  the  life  I  have 
lived.  You  see,  to  begin  with,  I  thought  my  father 
loved  me  and  that  I  loved  him.  I  was  mistaken.  I 
thought  I  had  a  friend  once  and  again  I  was  mis- 
taken. But  now  I  know  there  is  such  a  thing.  I 
want  you  and  you  are  all  that  I  want  in  the  world. 
I  want  you,  Ygerne,  In  a  way  I  did  not  know 
a  man  could  want  anything.  Through  you  I 
have  come  to  look  at  all  creation  in  a  new  way; 
it  seems  to  me  that  there  is  a  God.  Am  I  talking 
like  a  madman  again?  Or  just  like  a  fool?  ...  I 
feel  sometimes  that  I  love  you  because  I  was 
created  for  the  sole  purpose  of  loving  you;  that 
you  must  love  me  for  the  same  reason.  There  are 
other  times  when  that  doesn't  seem  possible,  when 
I  can't  conceive  of  your  coming  to  me  as  I  come  to 
you.  But  In  the  end  I  had  to  know,  Ygerne.  Am 
I  a  fool  ?    Or  do  you  love  me  ?" 

He  had  made  no  movement  toward  her.  He 
stood  very  still  at  the  door.  He  had  striven  with 
his  emotion  so  that  outwardly  he  mastered  it.  His 
voice  had  remained  calm  and  very  steady. 

"You  said  a  moment  ago,"  Ygerne  answered 
him,  and  her  voice  too  was  cool  almost  to  the 
point  of  indifference,  "that  you  had  been  a  brute 


YGERNE^S  ANSWER  153 

to  me.  Knowing  you  as  I  do,  is  it  likely  that  I 
should  have  come  to  love  you?" 

"No,"  he  said. 

**Then  why  do  you  come  to  me  this  way,  now?" 

"Because  I  had  to  come.  Because  it  is  not  al- 
ways the  likely  thing  which  happens.  Because  I 
have  thought  that  we  were  made  for  each  other, 
you  and  I.    Because  I  must  know." 

He  waited  for  her  answer,  an  answer  which  he 
feared  she  had  already  given  him.  He  hungered 
for  her  so  that  he  could  only  wonder  how  he  could 
hold  himself  back  from  taking  her  up  into  his 
arms.  But  he  mastered  himself  so  that  the  girl 
could  not  guess  how  hard  he  strove  for  the  mas- 
tery. 

"Is  love  a  little  thing  or  a  big  thing?"  she  said 
suddenly. 

"A  big  thing.  I  think  it  is  the  biggest  thing  in 
the  world." 

"And  still,  believing  that,  you  think  that  I  am  a 
girl  to  let  you  treat  me  as  you  have  treated  me 
since  we  first  saw  each  other,  and  then  to  come 
to  you  when  you  decide  to  crook  your  finger  to 
me,  giving  you  my  love?  Is  that  it?  Is  that  why 
you  are  here  to-night?" 

"Is  that  my  answer,  Ygerne?"  he  said,  his  tone 
more  stern  than  it  had  yet  been. 

"That  is  no  answer  at  all,  Mr.  Drennen.  It  is 
a  question." 


154  WOLF  BREED 

His  face  grew  a  little  white  as  he  stared  at  her. 

*'I  think,  Ygerne,  that  I  shall  tell  you  good  night 
now.  And  in  the  morning,  before  you  are  up,  I'll 
be  gone.  All  my  life  I  hope  I  shall  never  see  you 
again.  And  you  can  know  that  every  day  of  it 
ril  be  mad  to  see  you." 

He  bent  his  head  to  her,  turning  away,  a  dull 
agony  in  his  heart.  His  hand  was  upon  the  knob 
of  the  door.  Then  she  came  toward  him  swiftly. 
Half  way  across  the  room  she  stopped.  Suddenly 
her  face  was  scarlet,  her  eyes  were  shining  at  him 
like  stars.  Her  beauty  was  a  new  beauty,  in- 
finitely desirable. 

"Were  I  the  man,"  she  said  with  a  voice  which 
shook  with  the  passion  in  it,  "I'd  not  want  my 
woman  to  come  to  me  I  I'd  want  to  go  to  her,  to 
take  her  with  my  own  strength,  to  hold  her  with 
it,  to  know  that  she  was  too  proud  to  yield  even 
when  she  was  burning  to  be  taken  I" 

"Ygerne  I"  he  said  sharply. 

There  was  a  sort  of  defiance  in  the  sudden  tens- 
ity of  her  erect  body,  an  imperiousness  in  the  car- 
riage of  her  head.  Her  eyes  met  his  with  some- 
thing of  the  same  defiance  in  them.  But  in  them, 
too,  was  a  great  light. 

Drennen  came  to  her  swiftly.  His  arms  tight- 
ened about  her,  drawing  her  so  close  that  each 
heart  felt  the  other  striking  against  it.  She  let 
him  hold  her  so,  but  even  yielding  she  seemed  to 


I 


YGERNE'S  ANSWER  155 

resist.  His  lips,  seeking  her  red  mouth,  found  it 
this  time.  She  gave  back  the  passion  of  his  kiss 
passionately.  He  felt  a  thrill  through  him  like  an 
electric  current. 

"By  God,  Ygerne,"  he  cried  joyously,  *Ve'll 
make  life  over  now!" 

Suddenly  she  had  wrenched  herself  free  of  him. 

"I  didn't  love  you  yesterday,"  she  said  panting- 
ly,  holding  him  back  at  arm's  length,  her  wide, 
half-frightened  eyes  upon  his.  "Will  I  love  you 
to-morrow?  .  .  .    You  must  go  now;  go!" 

He  put  out  his  arms  for  her  but  she  had  run 
back  to  the  door  through  which  she  had  come  to 
him.  He  heard  the  door  close,  then  another.  She 
had  gone  to  her  own  room. 

Caught  up  between  heaven  and  hell  he  made  his 
way  homeward.  Passing  her  window  he  saw  that 
it  was  dark.  He  hesitated,  then  moved  on.  Sud- 
denly he  stopped.  He  had  heard  her  singing,  her 
voice  lilting  gaily,  quite  as  though  no  strong  emo- 
tion had  come  into  her  life  to-night.  A  swift  anger 
vaguely  tinged  with  dread  leaped  into  Drennen's 
heart.  She  was  humming  a  line  of  Garcia's  little 
song: 

"Dios!    It   is  sweet  to  be  young  and  to  love!*' 


CHAPTER  XIV 

DRENNEN  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY 

FOR  David  Drennen,  in  whose  mouth  the 
husks  of  life  were  dry  and  harsh  and  bit- 
ter, a  miracle  had  happened.  Nor  was  that 
miracle  any  the  less  a  golden  wonder  because  to 
other  men  in  other  times  it  had  been  the  same. 
Marshall  Sothern  had  been  right;  the  time  had 
come  when  a  woman's  responsibilities  were  to  be 
greater  than  those  of  the  head  of  a  monster  cor- 
poration. Banked  and  covered  as  it  was  in  the 
ashes  of  the  after  years,  there  was  the  old  living 
spark  of  humanity  in  David  Drennen.  Ygerne 
Bellaire  came  in  time  to  fan  it  into  a  warming 
glow.  The  fire  which  should  come  from  it  should 
be  her  affair.  It  would  cheer  with  its  warmth;  or 
it  should  devastate  with  its  flames.  The  spark, 
fanned  into  love's  fire,  had  in  an  instant  sent  its 
flickering  light  throughout  the  darker  places  of  a 
man's  being. 

A  woman,  accomplishing  that  which  Ygerne  Bel- 
laire had  done,  is  sometimes  not  unlike  a  child  scat- 

156 


DRENNEN  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY     157 

tering  coals  In  a  dry  forestland.  The  forest,  the 
child  itself,  may  be  consumed. 

Men  who  had  not  called  him  Drennen  the  Un- 
lucky had  named  him  Headlong  Drennen.  His 
Is  that  type  which,  in  another  environment  and  tak- 
ing the  gamble  of  life  from  another  angle.  Is 
termed  a  plunger.  There  was  no  room  for  half- 
heartedness  In  so  positive  a  nature.  Where  he 
loved  he  worshipped.  He  had  had  an  idol  once 
before,  his  father.  Now,  after  half  a  score  of 
years,  he  made  himself  another  Idol.  And  it,  in 
turn,  made  of  him  another  man. 

Worship  must  be  unquestioning.  It  is  builded 
upon  utter  faith.  So  Drennen,  his  slow  words 
spoken  to  Ygerne,  his  love  for  her  freed,  as  it 
were,  from  any  restraint  he  had  hitherto  tried  to 
put  upon  it,  his  whole  being  given  over  to  it,  came 
without  question  to  believe  in  her.  She  was  the 
woman  meant  to  be  his  mate  and  he  had  called  to 
her  and  she  had  come  to  him.  His  moment  of 
doubt  had  fled  with  his  declaration.  Otherwise 
he  would  have  been  the  paler  personality  which  it 
was  not  in  him  to  be,  half-hearted.  Of  her  pas- 
sion and  pride  he  made  character.  From  the  look 
which  he  had  seen  in  her  eyes  he  made  tenderness 
and  truth.  Every  attribute  of  that  Ideal  which 
is  somewhere  in  the  heart  of  every  man,  until  at 
last  the  one  woman  comes  to  occupy  Its  place  more 
sweetly  and  warmly  and  intimately,  he  brought 


158  WOLF  BREED 

forth  from  its  dark  recess  to  bestow  upon  Ygerne. 

All  night  he  did  not  sleep.  The  sun,  rising, 
found  him  quite  another  man  than  that  upon  which 
It  had  set  last  night.  In  men  like  Drennen  a  few 
hours  and  a  strong  emotion  can  accomplish  results 
which  In  other  men  would  require  the  passing  of 
years.  And  the  same  rising  sun  showed  a  new 
world  to  the  eyes  opened  eagerly  to  see  it,  dis- 
played a  fresh  universe  to  a  heart  starved  for  it. 
He  had  sought  to  see  only  the  shadows  yesterday; 
now  he  looked  for  the  light  and  it  was  everywhere. 
It  lay  quivering  upon  the  mountain  tops,  it  flooded 
the  valleys.  It  brightened  his  own  heart,  it  touched 
the  bosoms  of  other  men,  it  shone  in  their  eyes. 

He  had  shaved  and  dressed  himself  neatly.  On 
his  way  to  his  early  breakfast  he  met  Marshall 
Sothern  on  the  street.  Drennen  came  to  him 
swiftly,  putting  out  his  hand. 

*'I  have  been  rather  a  brute  and  an  unqualified 
boor,*'  he  said  quietly.  "I  owe  you  a  very  great 
deal,  Mr.  Sothern,  my  life  I  suppose.  I'd  like  to 
shake  hands." 

Sothern  looked  at  him  strangely,  both  sensing 
and  seeing  the  change  in  the  man.  He  put  out  his 
hand  and  it  settled  hard  about  Drennen's. 

"My  boy,"  he  said  simply,  *'you  have  my  word 
for  It  that  you  owe  me  not  so  much  as  a  word  of 
thanks.    You  are  getting  along  all  right?" 

*Tes.    So  well  that  I'm  off  to-day  for  Lebarge 


DRENNEN  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY     159 

to  file  on  my  claims.  I'll  not  waste  any  time  in 
getting  back.  If  then  you  care  to  look  over  the 
property  .  .  .'* 

The  buoyancy  within  him  had  been  speaking 
through  the  vibrant  tones  of  his  voice.  Suddenly 
he  broke  off,  his  eyes  widenmg  to  a  look  of  grop- 
ing wonderment.  His  jaw  had  dropped  a  little, 
he  stood  as  if  frozen  in  his  place,  even  the  hand 
which  Sothern  had  just  released  held  motionless 
half  way  on  Its  brief  return  journey  to  his  side. 
In  an  Incredibly  short  Instant  he  had  grown  pale; 
his  voice,  when  he  spoke  the  two  words,  was  harsh 
and  unsteady: 

"My  God!" 

Sothern  threw  up  his  hand  as  though  to  beat 
back  physically  a  flow  of  words. 

"Not  now!"  he  commanded  sharply.  "Wait. 
Later.  .  .  ." 

He  had  turned  abruptly  and  moved  away  In  a 
haste  which  carried  him  with  long  strides  down  the 
street.  Drennen,  the  rigidity  of  his  body  giving 
way  to  a  little  shiver  which  ran  up  and  down  him 
from  shoulders  to  calves,  stared  speechlessly 
after  Sothern.  His  mouth,  closed  slowly,  now 
opened  suddenly  as  though  he  were  going  to  call, 
but  no  words  came.  He  took  one  swift  step  after 
Sothern,  then  stopped  in  an  uneasy  indecision. 

Far  down  the  open  roadway  he  could  see  Marc 
Lemarc   with    Captain    Sefton   coming   into   the 


i6o  WOLF  BREED 

Settlement  from  the  direction  of  the  dugout.  In 
front  of  Marquette's,  as  he  glanced  swiftly  the 
other  way,  he  could  see  Charlie  Madden  at  the 
doorstep.  Joe  was  at  his  own  door.  It  seemed 
to  Drennen  that  they  were  all  looking  at  him.  He 
turned  then,  his  back  toward  Sothern,  and  went 
to  the  lunch  counter. 

Joe  asked  twice  what  he  would  eat  before 
Drennen  heard  and  gave  his  order.  Madden 
came  in  while  he  was  stirring  the  coffee  which  was 
growing  cold  under  his  vacant  eyes,  and  took  a 
stool  near  him,  studying  him  none  the  less  keenly 
because  the  look  was  so  swift. 

*'Well,  Drennen,"  he  said  lightly,  "you'll  be 
ready  to  talk  business  pretty  soon  now." 

Drennen  started. 

"Why,  good  morning.  Madden.  Yes;  yes,  I'll 
be  ready  to  talk  business  pretty  soon." 

"You're  not  still  holding  out  for  that  ridicu- 
lous proposition  you  made  me  the  other  day,  are 
you?" 

"Yes.  And  it  Isn't  ridiculous,  Madden.  It's 
worth  It." 

Madden  smiled. 

"Look  here,  Drennen,"  he  said  easily,  "you  can 
bluff  all  you  like  now,  but  you  can't  go  on  bluffing 
much  longer.  You'll  have  to  get  down  to  busi- 
ness. Whatever  your  mine  Is  worth  Is  just  what 
you  can  ask  for  It.     Hasbrook  and  Sothern  are 


DRENNEN  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY     i6i 

both  on  the  job,  and  they're  both  good  enough  old 
ducks.  But  they  haven't  got  the  companies  behind 
them  IVe  got  behind  me.  They  can't  get  their 
fingers  on  the  money  as  I  can.  And,"  shrugging 
his  shoulders,  "they're  old  guys  and  too  damned 
cautious  to  live.  I'll  take  a  gamble.  Damn  it, 
I'm  always  ready  for  a  gamble." 

He  flipped  a  check  book  from  his  pocket  and 
unscrewed  the  cap  of  a  pen. 

"I'll  take  a  chance,"  he  said  sharply.  "Right 
now  I'll  write  you  a  check  for  a  thousand  dollars. 
That's  just  for  a  ninety  days'  option.  We'll  clean 
out  of  this,  go  down  to  Lebarge  and  file  your 
title.  Then  we'll  see  what  you've  got.  Are  you 
on : 

The  temptation  of  the  pen  against  the  blue  slip 
of  paper  was  lost  to  Drennen.  While  Madden 
was  talking  there  had  again  crept  into  his  eyes 
that  look  which  tells  that  a  man's  mind  is  wan- 
dering to  other  thoughts.  Again,  with  a  start, 
he  brought  his  gaze  back  to  Madden. 

"A  thousand  dollars?  An  option?"  He  shook 
his  head.     "No." 

"Why,  man,  are  you  crazy?"  Madden's  look 
hinted  that  Madden  half  believed  he  was.  "I'm 
just  chucking  a  thousand  dollars  at  you,  throwing 
it  away  for  the  fun  of  it.  .  .  ." 

"I  don't  want  it.  And  I  don't  want  to  be  tied 
up  ninety  days  or  nine.'* 


1 62  WOLF  BREED 

"Have  you  made  a  dicker  with  any  one?" 
queried  Madden  suspiciously.  "Old  Sothern  has 
had  you  all  to  himself.  .  .  .  Did  you  tie  up  with 
him?" 

"No." 

"Then,  can't  you  see,  Vm  the  man  you  want  to 
deal  with?" 

"I  don't  think  so,"  Drennen  replied  thought- 
fully. 

"Why  not?"  Madden's  check  book  was  snap- 
ping against  the  counter  as  though  its  voice  cried 
out  with  his. 

"Because  I  think  I'm  going  to  sell  to  the 
Northwestern  I" 

"But,"  cried  Madden  angrily,  "you  just  told  me 
that  Sothern  hadn't  .  .  ." 

"He  hasn't  I"  Drennen  grinned.  "He  doesn't 
know  it  yet  I" 

And  that  was  all  that  Charlie  Madden,  though 
he  pleaded  and  waxed  wroth,  could  get  out  of 
him. 

Drennen,  passing  out,  nodded  pleasantly  to 
Marc  Lemarc,  coming  in.  Lemarc  stared  after 
him  wonderlngly.  Drennen  looked  up  and  down 
the  street  as  though  searching  for  some  one.  His 
eyes  moved  restlessly;  his  agitation  was  so  obvious 
that  any  man,  seeing  him,  might  see  it,  too. 

It  was  far  too  early  to  hope  to  see  Ygerne. 
After  a  brief  hesitation  Drennen  returned  thought- 


DRENNEN  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY     163 

fully  to  his  dugout.  His  door  open,  his  pipe 
lighted  only  to  die  and  grow  cold,  forgotten,  he 
waited.  Now  and  then  when  a  man  passed  as 
infrequently  happened,  Drennen  looked  up 
quickly.  He  frowned  each  time  as  the  man  went 
on. 

A  little  after  nine  o'clock  a  man  did  stop  at 
his  door,  carrying  a  note  in  his  hand.  Drennen's 
thoughts  went  swiftly  to  Ygerne,  and  a  quickened 
beating  of  his  heart  sent  the  blood  throbbing 
through  him.  But  the  note  was  from  Sothern  and 
said  briefly: 

"I  have  gone  on  to  Lebarge.  You  were  not  mistaken. 
But  it  is  nobody's  business  but  yours  and  mine.  I  shall 
expect  you  to  come  on  as  soon  as  you  are  able  to  make 
the  trip." 

The  man  who  had  brought  the  message  had 
gone  on  up  the  street.  Drennen  sat  and  stared 
out  through  his  door,  across  the  river,  his  face  set 
and  inscrutable.  The  eager  light  in  his  eyes  was 
not  without  its  anguish.  Suddenly  he  stood  up,  his 
gaunt  form  straight  and  rigid,  his  shoulders 
squared,  his  jaw  thrust  out,  his  fist  clenched. 

"By  Heaven!"  he  cried  aloud,  as  though  he 
were  going  to  voice  the  purpose  gripping  him. 
Then  he  broke  off,  an  odd  smile  upon  his  lips. 
And  the  smile  told  nothing. 


CHAPTER  XV; 

THE  TALE  OF  LE  BEAU  DIABLE 

HIS  meeting  with  Ygerne  two  hours  before 
noon  cast  out  from  his  mind  all  thoughts 
which  did  not  have  to  do  with  her.  There  was  a 
new  glory  about  her  this  morning,  crowning  her 
like  an  aureole.  Partly  was  this  due  to  a  greater 
care  in  her  dress  and  the  arranging  of  her  copper- 
brown  hair;  partly  to  the  emotions  which  at  sight 
of  him  charged  through  her.  She  was  going  down 
to  her  breakfast  at  Joe's  when  he  saw  her.  He 
crossed  the  street  to  her,  his  face  brightening  like 
a  boy's.  As  he  moved  along  at  her  side,  having 
had  only  a  fleeting,  tantalising  glimpse  of  the 
grey  of  her  eyes  from  under  the  wide  brim  of  her 
hat,  he  whispered: 

"Do  you 'love  me,  Ygerne?'' 

There  were  men  on  the  street  who,  though  they 
might  not  hear  the  words,  could  not  misread  the 
look.  She  flushed  a  little,  sent  another  flashing 
sidelong  glance  at  him,  making  him  no  other  an- 
swer than  that.  He  asked  none  other.  He  ac- 
companied her  to  Joe's  and  where  they  had  dined 
the    other    evening   In   the   privacy    of  the   half 

164 


TALE  OF  LE  BEAU  DIABLE       165 

shut-off  room,  they  breakfasted  now.  Drennen 
ordered  another  cup  of  coffee  for  himself  and 
forgot  to  drink  it  as  he  had  forgotten  the 
first. 

Ygerne,  on  the  other  hand,  ate  her  meal  with 
composure.  When  he  sought  in  a  lover's  under- 
tone to  refer  to  last  night  she  remarked  evasively 
upon  the  weather.  When  he  said,  over  and  over, 
*'And  you  do  love  me,  Ygerne?"  she  turned  her 
eyes  anywhere  but  upon  his  and  refused  to  hear. 
And  he  laughed  a  new  laugh,  so  different  from 
that  of  yesterday,  and  worshipped  man  fashion 
and  man  fashion  yearned  to  have  her  in  his  arms. 
When  at  last  she  had  paid  her  own  score,  so  in- 
sistent upon  it  that  Drennen  gave  over  amusedly, 
they  went  out  together. 

**We're  going  down  the  river,"  he  told  her 
quite  positively.  *'I  want  you  to  sit  upon  a  certain 
old  log  I  know  while  I  talk  to  you." 

For  a  little  he  thought  that  she  would  refuse. 
Then,  a  hotter  flush  in  her  cheeks,  she  turned  with 
him,  passing  down  the  river  bank.  They  drew 
abreast  of  his  dugout,  Ygerne  glancing  swiftly  in 
at  the  open  door.  They  had  grown  silent,  even 
Drennen  finding  little  to  say  as  they  moved  on. 
But  at  length  they  came  to  the  log,  having  passed 
around  many  green  willowed  kinks  in  the  Little 
MacLeod.  The  girl,  sitting,  either  consciously 
or  through   chance,   took  the   attitude   in   which 


1 66  WOLF  BREED 

Drennen  had  come  upon  her  with  the  dual  fever 
in  his  blood. 

Thus  Drennen's  idyl  began.  Ygerne,  staring 
straight  out  before  her  with  wide,  unseeing  eyes, 
spoke  swiftly,  her  voice  a  low  monotone  that 
fitted  in  well  with  the  musing  eyes.  She  loved 
him;  she  told  him  so  in  a  strangely  quiet  tone  and 
Drennen,  wishing  to  believe,  believed  and  thrilled 
under  her  words  like  the  strings  of  an  instrument 
under  a  sweeping  hand.  She  told  him  that  while 
he  had  been  unsleeping  last  night  neither  had  she 
slept. 

"I  didn't  know  that  love  came  this  way,"  she 
said.  "It  was  easy  to  find  interest  in  you;  you 
were  wrapped  in  it  like  a  cloak.  Then  I  think 
I  came  to  hate  you,  just  as  you  said  that  you  hated 
me  .  .  ." 

*T  was  mad,  Ygerne!"  he  broke  in  contritely. 

"Or  are  we  mad  now?"  she  laughed,  a  vague 
hint  of  trouble  on  her  lips.  *'You  say  we  don't 
know  much  of  each  other.  It  is  worse  than  just 
that.  What  little  I  know  of  you  is  not  pretty 
knowledge.  What  little  I  have  told  you  of 
myself,  what  you  have  seen  of  my  compan- 
ions here,  what  you  have  guessed,  is  hardly 
the  sort  of  thing  to  make  you  choose  me, 
is  it?  You  called  me  adventuress  more  than  once. 
Are  you  sure  now  that  I  am  not  what  you  named 
me?" 


THE  TALE  OF  LE  BEAU  DIABLE       167 

*'I  am  sure,'*  he  answered  steadily,  his  faith  in 
his  idol  strong  upon  him.  "You  are  a  sweet 
woman  and  a  true,  Ygerne.  And  if  you  weren't 
.  .  .  why,  just  so  you  loved  me  I  should  not 
carel" 

So  they  passed  from  matters  vital  to  mere  lov- 
ers' talk  that  was  none  the  less  vital  to  them. 
Drennen,  having  long  lived  a  starving  existence, 
his  soul  pent  up  within  his  own  self,  opened  his 
heart  to  her  and  poured  out  the  thoughts  which 
not  even  to  himself  had  he  hitherto  acknowledged. 
He  told  of  his  old  life  in  the  cities;  of  the  shame 
and  disgrace  that  had  driven  him  an  alien  into 
a  sterner  land  where  the  names  of  men  meant  less 
than  the  might  and  cunning  of  their  right  hands; 
of  his  restless  life  leading  him  up  and  down  upon 
a  trail  of  flint;  of  disappointment  and  disillusion 
encountered  on  every  hand  until  all  of  the  old 
hopes  and  kindly  thoughts  were  stripped  from 
him;  of  the  evil  days  which  had  turned  sour  within 
him  the  milk  of  human  kindness. 

Two  things  alone  he  would  not  talk  of.  He 
laughed  at  her,  a  ringing,  boyish  laugh  when  she 
mentioned  them,  one  after  the  other.  The  first 
was  what  lay  back  in  her  own  life,  the  thing  which 
had  driven  her  here. 

"Don't  you  want  me  to  tell  you  of  that?"  she 
had  asked,  looking  at  him  swiftly. 

"No,"  he  had  answered.     "Not  now.     When 


•I 68  WOLF  BREED 

we  are  married,  Ygerne,  then  if  you  want  to  tell 
me  I  want  to  hear." 

His  faith  in  her  was  perfect,  that  was  all.  He 
wanted  her  to  know  that  it  was  and  took  this 
method  of  telling  her. 

The  other  matter  was  his  gold. 

"You  haven't  told  me  of  your  discovery,"  she 
reminded  him,  again  after  a  brief,  keen  scrutiny. 
"Aren't  you  going  to  tell  me  .  .  .  David?" 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  called  him  David, 
and  the  foolish  joy  at  the  little  incident  drove 
him  to  take  her  again  to  his  arms.  But  with  a 
steady  purpose  he  refused  to  tell  her.  He  had  his 
reason  and  to  give  the  reason  would  thwart  his 
purpose.  He  meant  to  go  to  Lebarge  and  attend 
to  the  routine  work  there  in  connection  with  a 
new  claim.  That  matter  settled,  and  another,  he 
would  return  swiftly  to  MacLeod's  Settlement.  He 
would  seek  Ygerne  and  they  two  would  slip  away 
together.  He  would  take  her  with  him  so  that 
her  eyes  might  be  the  first  to  see  with  him  the 
golden  gash  in  the  breast  of  earth.  He  would 
tell  her:     "It  is  yours,  Ygerne." 

So  he  just  said  lightly: 

"Wait  a  little,  Ygerne.  Wait  until  I  come  back 
from  Lebarge.  I'll  be  gone  a  week  at  most.  And 
then  .  .  .  and  then,  Ygerne  .  .  ." 

He  had  been  holding  her  a  little  away  from 
him  so  that  he  could  look  into  her  eyes,  his  soul 


THE  TALE  OF  LE  BEAU  DIABLE      169 

drinking  deep  of  the  wine  of  them.  Now  he 
broke  off  sharply,  a  swift  frown  driving  for  the 
instant  the  radiance  of  his  joy  from  his  face.  He 
had  forgotten  that  he  and  Ygerne  Bellaire  were 
not  in  truth  the  only  two  created  beings  upon  the 
bosom  of  earth.  And  now,  from  around  a  bend 
in  the  river  came  a  low  voice  singing,  Garcia  com- 
ing into  view,  Garcia's  eternal  song  upon  his  lips : 

"TFe  perfume  of  roses,  of  little  red  roses; 
(Thou  art  a  rose,  oh,  so  sweet,  corazdnl) 

Garcia's  eyes,  a  little  glint  of  slumbrous  fire  in 
their  midnight  depths,  were  upon  the  man  and  the 
girl.  He  paused  a  moment,  stared,  bowed  deeply 
with  the  old  dramatic  sweep  of  his  hat.  A  hot 
spurt  of  rage  flared  across  Drennen's  brain;  this 
was  no  accidental  meeting.  Garcia  had  seen  them 
leave  the  Settlement  and  had  followed.  Then  the 
burning  wrath  changed  quickly  to  hard,  cold, 
watchful  anger.  Through  a  mere  whim  of  the  lit- 
tle gods  of  chance  he  had  seen  another  face  in  the 
thicket  of  young  elms  not  twenty  paces  from 
Ygeme's  log,  a  face  with  hard,  malevolent  eyes, 
peaked  at  the  bottom  with  a  coppery  Vandyck 
beard.  If  Ramon  Garcia  had  seen,  certainly  Sef- 
ton  had  both  seen  and  heard. 

When  Drennen's  long  strides  had  carried  him 
to  the  thicket  there  was  only  the  down  trodden 
grass  to  show  him  where  Sefton  had  stood  for 


170  WOLF  BREED 

perhaps  ten  minutes.  When  he  had  come  back 
to  Ygerne  Ramon  Garcia  had  ended  his  stare,  had 
turned  with  his  shoulders  lifting,  and  twirling  his 
mustaches  had  gone  back  toward  the  Settle- 
ment. 

"Ygerne,"  cried  Drennen.  harshly,  "why  do  you 
travel  with  men  like  that  Sefton  and  Lemarc?" 

Her  voice  was  cool,  her  eyes  were  cool,  as  she 
answered  him. 

"Marc  Lemarc  is  my  cousin.  Captain  Sefton 
is  his  friend.     Is  that  reason  enough?'* 

"No.  What  have  the  three  of  you  in  com- 
mon ?'» 

She  caught  up  one  knee  between  her  clasped 
hands,  once  more  seated,  and  looked  up  at  him 
curiously.  For  a  moment  she  seemed  to  hesi- 
tate; then  she  spoke  quietly,  her  eyes  always  in- 
tent upon  his. 

"So,  if  you  don't  want  to  know  what  drove  me 
from  New  Orleans  you  do  want  to  know  what 
brought  me  here  ?  I  think  that  perhaps  you  could 
guess  if  you  had  heard  as  much  as  other  men 
know  about  my  grandfather,  Bellaire  le  Beau 
Diahhy  as  men  called  him.  It  is  the  quest  of  gold, 
his  gold,  which  has  brought  me,  and  with  me 
Marc  and  Captain  Sefton." 

Drennen  frowned,  shaking  his  head  slowly. 

"You  won't  need  to  seek  such  things  now, 
Ygerne,"  he  said  with  quiet  conviction  in  his  tone. 


THE  TALE  OF  LE  BEAU  DIABLE       171 

"Surely  you  know  the  type  of  men  these  two  arc? 
Will  you  cut  loose  from  them,  dear?" 

The  fine  lines  of  her  dark  eyebrows  curved 
questioningly. 

"Because  you  have  found  gold,  much  gold," 
she  returned,  "must  I  come  to  you  penniless,  like 
a  beggar?" 

Before  he  could  answer  she  spoke  again,  flushed 
with  that  quick  temper  which  was  a  part  of  her. 

"They  would  be  glad  enough,  both  of  them,  If 
I  drew  out  now!  But  I  won't  do  Itl  It  is  mine, 
all  mine,  and  I  am  going  to  find  itl  They  shall 
have  their  shares,  as  I  promised  them:  ten  per 
cent  each.  And  I,  Sir  Midas,  will  not  be  sus- 
pected then  of  falling  in  love  with  you  as  I  am 
doing  because  you  are  rich  and  I  have  noth- 
ingl" 

"Then,"  said  Drennen,  "if  you  are  not  to  be 
turned  aside  can  I  help?  Will  you  tell  me  about 
it,  Ygerne?" 

"Yes  and  yes,"  she  answered  eagerly.  "I'll 
tell  you  and  you  can  help.  Here  is  the  story: 
When  Napoleon  was  overthrown  my  grand- 
father, Paul  Bellaire,  was  a  boy  of  eighteen.  But 
already  Napoleon's  eye  had  found  him  and  he 
was  Captain  Bellaire.  That  title  suited  him  bet- 
ter than  his  inherited  one  of  Count.  Already  men 
called  him  le  Beau  Diable.  Then  Napoleon  went 
down  before  Wellington  and  Paul  Bellaire  had 


172  WOLF  BREED 

to  shift  for  himself  under  difficult  circumstances. 
But  he  didn't  flee  from  France  as  did  so  many. 
He  twirled  his  young  mustaches  and  went  to 
Paris. 

"Louis,  le  Desire,  had  at  length  got  his  desire 
and  was  King  Louis  XVIIL  Now  that  the  lion 
was  in  his  cage  Louis  roared.  The  young  Captain 
Bellaire,  going  everywhere  that  entertaining  so- 
ciety was  to  be  found,  managed  to  keep  out  of 
Louis's  hands.  One  night,  while  he  was  being 
sought  in  one  end  of  the  kingdom,  he  danced  en 
masque  in  the  palace  of  the  king.  The  most  cele- 
brated beauty  of  the  court  was  the  Lady  Louise 
de  Neville.  Perhaps  a  little  because  she  was  the 
beauty  she  was,  perhaps  more  because  she  was 
the  king's  ward,  Paul  Bellaire  paid  her  his  court. 

"The  king  had  a  husband  for  her  but  the  Lady 
Louise  had  found  one  more  to  her  liking.  Know- 
ing what  royal  displeasure  might  mean,  and  be- 
ing, despite  her  hot  heart,  a  cool-headed  sort  of 
person,  she  took  precautions  to  put  all  of  her  es- 
tates into  gold  and  jewels  which  one  could  carry 
readily  in  case  of  flight.  Then  she  slipped  away 
from  the  court  and  rode  with  her  lover  to  the 
south. 

"That  was  In  the  year  1820.  Bellaire,  though 
penniless  after  the  disaster  of  18 15,  had  managed 
in  the  five  years  to  have  accumulated  much.  He 
was  a  born  gambler  and  the  fates  turned  the  dice 


THE  TALE  OF  LE  BEAU  DIABLE       173 

for  him  so  that  men  said  that  he  was  In  truth  the 
Devil  and  the  son  of  the  Devil.  Like  the  Lady 
Louise  he  had  his  property  converted  into  such 
form  that  a  man  might  carry  it  in  his  hands.  It 
became  known  publicly  after  the  flight  that  the 
Nemours  diamonds  and  the  pearls  of  the  old 
prince  de  Chartres  had  found  their  way  into 
Bellaire's  hands  across  a  table  with  a  green  top. 

*'When  the  honeymoon  was  six  hours  old  the 
wrath  of  the  testy  king  found  them.  Paul  Bel- 
laire  put  the  Lady  Louise  out  of  a  side  door  and 
upon  her  horse;  then  he  unlocked  the  front  door 
and  bowed  to  his  callers.  They  were  five  men 
and  those  of  them  whom  he  did  not  merely  cripple 
he  killed.    All  of  France  rang  with  it." 

The  girl  was  breathing  deeply  as  though  agi- 
tated by  her  own  tale,  her  eyes  having  the  look  of 
one  who  stares  at  ghost  figures  through  the  dim 
years.  In  her  voice  there  was  the  ringing  note 
of  pride,  pride  of  blood,  of  consanguinity  with  such 
a  man  as  her  fancy  pictured  Paul  Bellaire  to  have 
been. 

*'He  was  hurt,  badly  hurt,"  she  went  on.  *'But 
he  found  another  horse  and  left  the  village,  fol- 
lowing the  Lady  Louise  to  the  coast  and  carry- 
ing with  him  both  her  moneys  and  his.  A  ship 
brought  them  to  America  and  they  made  a  home 
in  New  Orleans.  There  they  sought  and  found 
exiles  of  their  own  station,  making  about  them  a 


174  WOLF  BREED 


1 


circle  as  brilliant  as  Louis's  court.  And  here 
Bellaire  prospered  until  after  my  father  was  bom. 
Then  there  came  other  trouble,  a  game  in  Paul 
Bellaire's  own  home  over  which  there  were  hot 
dispute  and  pistol  shots.  And  once  more,  be- 
cause he  had  killed  a  man  who  was  not  without 
fame,  wealth  and  a  wide  reaching  influence,  Paul 
Bellaire  became  an  exile. 

*'After  that  night  the  Countess  Louise  saw  my 
grandfather  only  four  times.  An  exile  from  two 
countries,  two  prices  upon  his  head,  he  played 
daily  with  death.  Driven  from  France  he  had 
come  to  America;  now  driven  from  America  he 
went  back  to  France.  Louis  was  dead;  a  new 
government  held  sway;  and  yet  he  was  not  for- 
gotten there.  Once,  even  the  authorities  got  their 
hands  upon  him.  But  again  he  slipped  away,  and 
again  he  came  to  New  Orleans.  He  spent  one 
night  In  his  own  home  with  the  Countess  Louise 
and  their  little  son;  then  word  of  his  return  leaked 
out  and  once  more  he  was  a  fugitive. 

"In  spite  of  all  this  he  lived  to  be  a  man  of 
seventy.  In  1850,  drawn  with  the  tide  of  ad- 
venturers surging  to  California,  he  took  ship  to 
Panama,  crossed  the  Isthmus,  and  at  last  came  to 
the  Golden  Gate.  He  lived  In  California  for 
seven  years,  added  to  his  wealth,  and  went  back 
for  the  second  time  to  New  Orleans.  Again  he 
made  the  long  trip  to  the  West,  but  this  time  he 


I 


THE  TALE  OF  LE  BEAU  DIABLE       175 

fared  further  and  came  on  into  the  Dominion  of 
Canada.  He  was  wealthy,  more  wealthy  than 
most  men  suspected  then.  He  brought  servants 
with  him  and  plunging  into  the  wilds  devoted  his 
time  to  the  lure  of  exploration  and  the  sport  of 
hunting  big  game.  A  third  trip  to  New  Orleans 
and  he  confided  in  his  countess  that  he  had  found 
a  home  for  both  of  them  and  their  son  in  their 
old  age;  he  would  make  of  himself  a  power  in  a 
new  world;  his  son  should  some  day  be  a  man 
for  the  world  to  reckon  with. 

''Coming  back  to  Canada  he  brought  with  him 
the  bulk  of  his  own  and  the  Countess  Louise's 
wealth,  converting  landed  property  into  coined 
gold  and  jewels.  In  1868  he  came  back  to  New 
Orleans,  a  hale,  stalwart  old  man,  who  thought 
to  have  a  score  of  years  still  before  him.  But 
the  law  had  never  forgotten  him  and  this  time 
found  him.  In  his  own  home,  fighting  as  the 
young  Captain  Bellaire  in  Napoleon's  cavalry 
had  fought,  he  went  down  to  an  assassin's  bullet." 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  tears  of  anger 
as  she  thought  of  the  old  man  dying  with  his  wife 
weeping  over  him  and  his  son  going  sick  at  the 
sight  of  the  spurting  blood.  Drennen,  watching 
her,  marvelled  at  the  girl.  He  remembered  her 
words  of  the  other  day:  "We  of  the  blood  of 
Paul  Bellaire  are  not  shop  girls  I" 

In  a  moment  she  went  on   swiftly,   the   eyes 


176  WOLF  BREED 


1 


turned  upon  Drennen  very  bright,  a  flush  of  ex- 
citement in  her  cheeks. 

*'My  grandmother  died  soon  after  Paul  Bel- 
laire.  They  had  just  the  one  child,  my  father.  He 
was  no  coward;  no  man  ever  dared  say  that  of 
him;  but  he  seemed  to  have  none  of  the  adven- 
turesome blood  of  his  parents.  And  yet  that 
blood  has  come  down  to  me  I  My  father  in- 
herited the  New  Orleans  home  and  a  position  of 
influence.  He  became  a  merchant  and  prospered. 
When  he  married  my  mother  he  was  a  man  of 
considerable  property.  It  was  only  when  both  my 
father  and  mother  were  dead  that  I  came  to  know 
the  story  which  I  have  told  you.  In  one  breath 
I  learned  this  and  that  during  the  last  years  of 
his  life  my  father's  means  had  been  dissipated 
through  expensive,  even  luxurious,  living,  and  a 
series  of  unwise  speculations.  But  one  heritage 
did  come  down  to  me  .  .  .  the  memorandum 
book  of  my  grandfather,  Paul  Bellaire!  And  it 
is  because  of  that  that  I  am  here!'' 

"Lemarc  and  Sefton?"  prompted  Drennen. 

"Marc  learned  the  story  with  me.  We  looked 
over  the  papers  together.  There  was  a  rude  cryp- 
tic sort  of  map ;  I  have  it.  It  meant  nothing  with- 
out a  key.  We  searched  everywhere  for  that  key. 
Marc  pretending  to  aid  me,  had  it  all  of  the  time 
in  his  hand.  When  he  had  had  time  to  carry  it 
away  and  place  It  where  I  could  not  find  it  he 


THE  TALE  OF  LE  BEAU  DIABLE       177 

came  back  and  told  me  that  he  had  It.  Without 
it  the  map  is  useless.  So  I  compromised  wi^h 
Marc,  since  there  was  no  other  way,  and  he  came 
with  me.  And  Captain  Sefton?"  She  frowned 
and  her  voice  was  hard  as  she  concluded:  "Marc 
has,  I  think,  all  of  the  vices  of  our  blood  without 
its  virtues.  Through  gambling  debts  and  other 
obligations  he  was  in  a  bad  way.  Captain  Sef- 
ton  has  him  pretty  well  at  his  mercy.  So,  just 
as  I  let  Marc  in.  Marc  was  forced  to  allow  Sefton 
to  become  the  third  member  of  our  party." 

A  wild  enough  tale,  certainly,  and  yet  Drennen 
doubted  no  word  of  it.  Wilder  things  have  been 
true.  And,  perhaps,  no  words  issuing  from  that 
red  mouth  of  Ygerne*s  would  have  failed  to  ring 
true  in  her  lover's  ears. 

"You  said  that  I  could  helpT' 

*Tes."  Again  there  was  that  glint  of  eager- 
ness in  her  eyes ;  no  doubt  the  old  Bellaire  fortune 
of  minted  gold  and  jewels  in  their  rich  settings 
shone  in  dazzling  fashion  before  her  stimulated 
fancy.  *'We  have  found  the  spot;  it  is  in  a  canon 
not  twenty  miles  from  here.  But,  at  some  time 
during  the  last  ten  winters,  there  have  been  heavy 
landslides.  The  whole  side  of  a  mountain  has 
slipped  down,  covering  the  place  where,  on  the 
map,  there  is  the  little  cross  which  spells  treasure. 
It  will  take  money,  much  money,  for  the  excava- 
tion.   And  Marc  and  Captain  Sefton  and  I  have 


178  WOLF  BREED 

no  money.  We  may  dig  for  months,  but  at 
last  .  .  ." 

"I'll  finance  it,"  said  Drennen  steadily.  "If 
you  win  allow  me,  Ygerne?  I'd  do  so  much 
more  than  just  that  for  you  I  I  am  afraid  It  will 
have  to  wait  until  I  can  have  sold  my  claim.  Then 
you  can  have  what  you  want,  five  thousand,  ten 
thousand  .  .  /* 

She  had  sprung  to  her  feet,  her  arms  flung  out 
about  his  neck. 

"I  believe  you  do  love  me,  David,'*  she  said 
triumphantly. 

Before  Drennen  left  her  it  was  arranged  that 
Lemarc  was  to  come  with  him  to  Lebarge,  that 
Drennen  was  to  raise  the  money  as  soon  as  he 
could,  that  it  was  to  be  placed  in  Lemarc's  hands 
so  that  the  work  could  begin.  And  the  next  morn- 
ing David  Drennen,  bearing  a  heart  which  sang 
in  his  bosom,  left  the  Settlement  for  Lebarge. 

"In  a  week  at  most  I'll  be  back,  Ygerne,"  he 
had  whispered  to  her.  "On  the  seventh  day,  in 
the  morning  early,  will  you  meet  me  here, 
Ygerne?" 

And  Ygerne  promised. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  LOST  GOLDEN  GIRL  PAYS  AN  OLD  DEBT 

DRENNEN,  presenting  himself  early  upon 
the  second  morning  in  the  offices  of  the 
Northwestern  Mining  Company,  found  that  he 
was  expected.  A  clerk,  arranging  papers  of  the 
day's  work  upon  his  desk,  came  forward  quickly, 
a  look  of  interest  in  his  eyes. 

*'Mr.  Drennen?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.'' 

"This  way,  sir.  You  come  early  but  they  are 
looking  for  you." 

Drennen  followed  him  through  a  second  of- 
fice, unoccupied,  and  to  a  glazed  door  upon  which 
was  the  inscription,  "Local  Manager."  The 
sound  of  voices  coming  through  the  door  fell  off 
abruptly  at  the  clerk's  discreet  knock. 

Drennen  entered  and  the  clerk,  closing  the 
door,  went  back  to  his  own  office.  Fronting 
Drennen,  at  his  flat-topped  desk,  sat  old  Marshall 
Sothern,  the  muscles  of  his  face  tense,  his  eyes 
grim  with  the  purpose  in  them.  A  second  man, 
small,  square,  strong-faced,  a  little  reckless-eyed, 

179 


i8o  WOLF  BREED 

sat  close  to  Sothern.  The  third  man  of  the  group, 
standing  fronting  the  two,  was  a  young  looking 
fellow,  tall  and  with  the  carriage  of  a  soldier, 
wearing  the  uniform  of  an  officer  of  the  mounted 
police. 

Sothern  rose,  putting  out  his  hand  across  the 
table. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Drennen,'*  he  said  evenly. 
**I  am  glad  that  you  have  come  so  soon.  This  is 
Mr.  McCall,"  nodding  toward  the  strong-faced, 
middle-aged  man  with  the  young  eyes.  "You've 
heard  of  him,  no  doubt?  Our  chief  over  the 
Western  Division.  And  this  is  Lieutenant  Max 
of  the  Northwest  Mounted,  one  of  'my  boys.'  Be 
seated,  Mr.  Drennen.  And  if  you  will  pardon  us 
a  second?" 

He  turned  toward  Lieutenant  Max.  Drennen, 
having  gripped  Sothern's  hand,  having  bestowed 
upon  him  a  sharp  look  which  seemed  to  seek  to 
pierce  through  the  hard  shell  which  is  the  outer 
man  and  into  the  soul  of  him  where  the  real  self  is 
hidden,  acknowledged  the  two  introductions  and 
sat  down. 

"I  think  that  that  Is  all,  isn't  it.  Lieutenant?" 
Sothern  was  saying  as  he  picked  up  the  thread  of 
conversation  which  Drennen's  entrance  had 
snapped.     "Those  are  the  people  you  want?" 

"Yes."  Max's  words,  though  very  quiet  and 
low  toned,  had  in  them  something  of  the  pre- 


GOLDEN  GIRL  PAYS  AN  OLD  DEBT     1 8 1 

cislon  and  finality  of  pistol  shots.  "They'll  not 
get  away  this  time,  Mr.  Sothern." 

*^He  mustn't  get  away.  But  remember,  Lieu- 
tenant, that  the  time  is  not  ripe  yet.  Tpositively 
can  do  nothing  to  help  your  case  until  .  .  .  until 
I  am  ready!" 

**ril  wait.*' 

Max  lifted  his  hand  in  a  sort  of  salute,  turned 
and  went  out.  Drennen,  bringing  his  eyes  back 
from  the  departing  figure,  found  that  both  Mar- 
shall Sothern  and  McCall  were  studying  him  in- 
tently. 

**Mr.  Drennen,"  said  Sothern,  "I  presume  you 
are  here  to  talk  business.  You  have  a  mine  you 
want  us  to  look  at?" 

"I  am  here  for  two  purposes,"  answered  Dren- 
nen steadily,  his  eyes  hard  upon  the  older  man's. 
*'That  is  one  of  them." 

**The  other  can  wait.  Mr.  McCall  and  myself 
are  at  your  disposal.  From  the  specimens  I  have 
seen  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  you  have  not  dis- 
covered a  new  mine  at  all,  but  have  stumbled  on 
to  the  old  Lost  Golden  Girl.  If  so,  you  are  to 
be  congratulated  .  .  .  and  so  are  we." 

Drennen  nodded,  waiting  for  Sothern  to  go  on. 

*Tou  made  a  certain  offer  to  Charlie  Madden," 
continued  Sothern.  "Was  that  your  bona  fide 
proposition,  Mr.  Drennen?  Or  were  you  merely 
sparring  for  time  and  putting  out  a  bluff?" 


i82  WOLF  BREED 

"I  meant  business,"  returned  Drennen.  *'I 
know  that  the  property  Is  worth  considerably 
more  than  I  am  asking.  But  I  have  a  use  for 
just  that  sum." 

"A  hundred  thousand  dollars,  cash,  I  believe? 
And  a  ten  per  cent  royalty?"  put  In  McCall 
quietly. 

"Exactly."     Again  Drennen  nodded. 

*'You  want  me  to  look  It  over  with  you,  Soth- 
ern?"  demanded  McCall.  "It  Isn't  necessary, 
you  know.     Not  now." 

"I  want  you  to  do  me  the  favour,  McCall,"  an- 
swered Sothern.  "Mr.  Drennen,  yesterday  the 
only  man  In  the  West  empowered  to  do  business 
for  the  Northwestern  upon  such  a  scale  as  this 
was  Mr.  McCall.  But  things  have  happened  In 
the  East.  Our  chief,  Bruce  Elwood,  is  dead. 
Mr.  McCall  goes  to-morrow  to  Montreal,  step- 
ping Into  Mr.  Elwood's  place.  I  move  on  and 
up  Into  Mr.  McCall's." 

He  paused,  his  face  inscrutable  under  its  dark 
frown.  Suddenly  he  swung  about  upon  Mc- 
Call. 

"Andy,"  he  said  sharply,  "you're  going  to  do 
more  than  just  look  at  Mr.  Drennen's  find  with 
us.  You're  going  to  act  upon  his  offer  as  you  see 
fit.    As  a  favour  to  me,  Andy." 

Both  Drennen  and  McCall  looked  at  him  curi- 
ously.    Sothern's  stern  face  told  nothing. 


GOLDEN  GIRL  PAYS  AN  OLD  DEBT     183 

"As  a  favour  to  me,  Andy,'*  he  repeated.  "You 
bring  me  word  of  my  promotion.  Pigeonhole  It 
until  after  this  deal  Is  made  or  rejected.'* 

McCall,  his  hesitation  brief,  swung  about  upon 
Drennen. 

"Where  is  this  mine  of  yours?"  he  demanded 
curtly.    "How  long  will  It  take  us  to  get  to  It?" 

"It's  less  than  forty  miles  from  Lebarge,"  re- 
turned Drennen.  "And  we  can  get  there  in  five 
hours.  If  we  keep  on  moving." 

"You  have  filed  your  title,  of  course?" 

"Yes." 

"Come  ahead  then."  McCall  was  upon  his 
feet,  his  hat  on  his  head  and  his  cigar  lighted  all  in 
little  more  than  an  Instant. 

In  ten  minutes  the  party  was  formed  and  had 
clattered  out  of  Lebarge,  back  along  the  Mac- 
Leod trail.  There  were  five  men  in  the  little 
group,  Drennen,  Sothern,  McCall  and  two  min- 
ing experts  In  the  pay  of  the  Northwestern.  As 
they  swept  out  of  Lebarge,  rounding  Into  the 
canon  where  the  trail  twisted  ahead  of  them, 
Drennen  saw  two  men  looking  after  them.  One 
was  Marc  Lemarc  who  had  accompanied  him  to 
Lebarge;  the  other  Lieutenant  Max. 

Once  in  the  trail  the  five  men  strung  out  in  a 
line,  Drennen  in  the  lead.  It  was  easy  to  see  his 
impatience  In  the  hot  pace  he  set  for  them,  and 
they  thought  that  it  was  no  less  easy  to  understand 


i84  WOLF  BREED 

it.  But  for  once  they  followed  a  man  who 
thought  less  of  his  gold  mine  than  of  a  girl. 

Drennen's  gold  mine  itself  plays  no  part  in 
this  story.  He  was  never  to  see  it  again  after 
this  day,  although  it  was  to  pour  many  thousands 
of  dollars  into  his  pockets  from  a  distance.  In 
the  JVest  Canadian  Mining  and  Milling  News, 
date  of  August  p,  1912,  appears  a  column-and-a- 
half  article  upon  the  subject,  readily  accessible  to 
any  who  are  not  already  familiar  with  the  matter 
which  excited  so  wide  an  interest  at  the  time  and 
for  many  months  afterwards.  The  article  is  au- 
thoritative to  the  last  detail.  It  explains  how 
the  Golden  Girl  became  a  lost  mine  in  1799,  and 
how  it  happened  that  while  David  Drennen  had 
discovered  it  in  19 12  it  had  been  hidden  to  other 
eyes  than  his.  A  series  of  earthquakes  of  which 
we  have  record,  occurring  at  the  beginning  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  bringing  about  heavy  snow- 
slides  and  landslides,  had  thrown  the  course  of 
one  of  the  tributaries  of  the  Little  MacLeod  from 
its  bed  into  a  new  channel  where  a  sudden  de- 
pression had  sunk  the  golden  vein  of  the  lost 
mine. 

Here,  just  before  the  winter  of  1911-12  shut 
down,  David  Drennen  had  found  a  nugget  which 
he  had  concealed,  saying  nothing  about  it.  The 
snows  came  and  he  went  back  to  MacLeod's  Set- 
tlement to  wait  for  the  coming  of  springtime  and 


GOLDEN  GIRL  PAYS  AN  OLD  DEBT     185 

passable  trails.  The  first  man  to  pack  out  of  the 
Settlement  prospecting,  he  had  come  to  the  spot 
which  last  year  he  had  marked  under  the  cliffs 
known  locally  as  Hell's  Lace.  The  trail  had  been 
rotten  underfoot  and  he  had  slipped  and  fallen 
into  one  of  the  black  pools.  Clambering  out  he 
had  found  the  thing  he  sought;  where  the  trail 
had  broken  away  was  gold,  much  gold.  In  the 
bed  of  the  stream  itself,  nicely  hidden  for  a 
hundred  years  by  the  cold,  black  water,  swept  into 
deep  pools,  jammed  into  sunken  crevices,  was  the 
old  lost  gold  of  the  Golden  Girl. 

The  JFest  Canadian  Mining  and  Milling  News 
of  the  same  date  goes  on  to  mention  that  the  last 
official  act  of  Mr.  Andrew  McCall  as  Local  Agent 
for  the  Northwestern,  had  been  the  purchasing  of 
his  claim  from  Qavid  Drennen  at  the  latter's  fig- 
ure, namely  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  In  cash, 
and  an  agreement  of  a  royalty  upon  the  mine's 
output. 

Despite  Drennen's  Impatience  to  be  riding  trail 
again  it  was  a  week  before  the  deal  was  consum- 
mated. Half  a  mile  above  his  claim  it  was  pos- 
sible for  the  engineers  to  throw  the  stream  again 
into  its  old  bed,  a  score  of  men  and  three  days' 
work  accomplishing  the  conditions  which  had  ob- 
tained before  the  period  of  seismic  disturbance. 
Then  followed  days  of  keen  expert  investigation. 
Even  when  they  were  sure  these  men  who  know  as 


1 86  .WOLF  BREED 

most  men  do  not  the  value  of  caution  when  they 
are  allowed  to  take  time  for  caution,  postponed 
their  final  verdict.  But  at  last  the  thing  was  done 
and  McCall,  taking  his  train  for  the  East,  left 
Lebarge  with  a  conscious  glow  of  satisfaction 
over  the  last  work  done  as  superintendent  of  the 
Western  Division. 

Marshall  Sothern,  returning  from  the  railroad 
station,  found  Drennen  waiting  for  him  In  his 
private  office. 

*'Well,  Mr.  Drennen,'*  he  said  quietly,  going 
about  the  table  and  to  his  chair,  "how  does  it  feel 
to  be  worth  a  cool  hundred  thousand?" 

**It  feels,"  cried  the  younger  man  sharply,  his 
voice  ringing  with  a  hint  of  excitement  which 
had  been  oddly  lacking  in  him  throughout  the 
whole  transaction,  *'like  power  I  Like  a  power 
IVe  been  hungering  for  for  ten  years  I  May 
I  have  your  stenographer  for  a  few  moments, 
sir?" 

Sothern  touched  the  buzzer  and  the  clerk  came 
In  from  the  outer  office. 

*'Take  Mr.  Drennen's  dictation,"  said  Sothern. 
"I'll  go  into  the  other  room.  .  .  ." 

Drennen  lifted  his  hand. 

"It's  nothing  private,  sir,"  he  said.  "I'd  rather 
you  stayed.  I'd  like  a  word  with  you  after- 
wards." 

The   clerk  took  pencil   and  notebook.     And 


GOLDEN  GIRL  PAYS  AN  OLD  DEBT     187 

Drennen,  his  eyes  never  leaving  Sothern^s  face, 
dictated: 


"Harley  W.  Judson,  Esq.,  President  Eastern  Mines,  Inc., 
New  York. 
Dear  Sir  : — In  compliance  with  the  last  request  of  my 
father,  John  Harper  Drennen,  before  his  departure  for 
Europe  in  1901,  I  am  forwarding  draft  on  the  Merchants* 
&  Citizens*  National  Bank  of  New  York  for  $40,000. 
John  Harper  Drennen's  original  indebtedness  to  your 
company  was,  you  will  remember,  $75,000.  Of  this 
amount  some  $50,000  was  paid  from  the  sales  of  such 
properties  belonging  to  him  at  that  time.  The  remaining 
$25,000  at  an  interest  of  6%  for  the  ten  years  during 
which  the  obligation  has  continued,  amounts  to  the 
$40,000  which  I  enclose. 

Respectfully,** 

"That  IS  all,  Mr.  Drennen?"  asked  the  clerk. 

"That  is  all,'*  answered  Drennen.  The  clerk 
went  out.  Drennen  turned  toward  the  man  at 
the  desk  whose  stern  set  face  had  gone  strangely 
white. 

"The  absconding  John  Harper  Drennen  made 
such  a  request  of  you?"  Marshall  Sothem  said 
calmly,  though  the  effort  for  control  was  evident. 

"No.  It's  just  a  little  lie  told  for  my  father 
.  .  .  the  only  thing  I  have  ever  done  for  him!" 

Drennen  came  suddenly  about  the  table,  both 
of  his  strong  hands  out. 


i88  WOLF  BREED 

"When  a  man  is  very  young  he  judges  sweep- 
ingly,  he  condemns  bitterly.  Now  .  .  .  why, 
now  I  don't  give  a  damn  what  you've  done  or 
why  I"  His  voice  went  hoarse,  his  hands  shook 
and  into  the  hard  eyes  of  David  Drennen,  eyes 
grown  unbelievably  soft  now,  the  tears  stood.  "If 
only  you  hadn't  shut  me  out  that  way  .  .  .  God  I 
I've  missed  you,  Dad!" 

The  old  man  made  no  answer  as  his  hand  grew 
like  rock  about  his  son's.  A  smile  ineffably  sweet 
touched  his  lips  and  shone  In  his  eyes.  The  years 
had  been  hard,  merciless  years  to  him  as  they  had 
been  to  David  Drennen.  But  for  a  moment  the 
past  was  forgotten,  this  brief  fragment  of  time 
standing  supreme  in  the  two  lives.  At  last,  in  the 
silence,  there  fell  upon  them  that  little  awkward- 
ness which  comes  to  such  men  when  for  a  second 
they  have  let  their  souls  stand  naked  in  their  eyes. 
Almost  at  the  same  Instant  each  man  sought  his 
pipe,  filling  it  with  restless  fingers. 

"My  boy,"  said  the  man  whose  name  had  been 
Marshall  Sothern  through  so  many  weary  years 
that  It  was  now  more  his  name  than  any  other, 
"there  Is  the  tale  to  tell  .  .  .  sometime.  I  can't 
do  It  now.  One  of  these  days  .  .  .  this  has  been 
the  only  dream  I've  dreamed  since  I  saw  you  last, 
in  Manhattan,  David  .  .  .  you  and  I  are  going 
to  pack  off  into  the  mountains.  We're  going 
alone,  David,  and  we're  going  far;  so  far  that  the 


GOLDEN  GIRL  PAYS  AN  OLD  DEBT     189 

smoke  of  our  little  camp  fire  will  be  for  our  eyes 
and  nostrils  alone.  Then  I  can  tell  you  my  story. 
And  .  .  .  David  .  .  .»' 

"Yes,  Dad?" 

"That  forty  thousand  .  .  .  You  are  a  gentle- 
man, David  I  That  was  like  you.  I  ...  I 
thank  you,  my  boy  I" 

Drennen's  face,  through  a  rush  of  emotions, 
reddened.  Reddened  for  an  unreasoning,  inex- 
plicable shame  no  less  than  for  a  proud  sort  of 
joy  that  at  last  he  had  been  able  to  do  some  small 
thing  for  John  Harper  Drennen,  his  old  hero. 

Again  there  fell  a  silence,  a  little  awkward. 
The  two  men,  with  so  much  to  say  to  each  other, 
found  a  thousand  thoughts  stopping  the  rush  of 
words  to  be  spoken.  Drennen  realised  what  his 
father  had  had  in  mind,  or  rather  in  that  keenly 
sensitive,  intuitive  thing  which  is  not  mind  but 
soul,  when  he  had  spoken  of  the  two  of  them  tak- 
ing together  a  trail  which  must  lead  them  for 
many  days  into  the  solitudes  before  they  could 
talk  to  each  other  of  the  matters  which  counted. 
Something  not  quite  shyness  but  akin  to  it  was 
upon  them  both;  it  was  a  relief  when  the  tele- 
phone of  Sothern's  desk  rang. 

It  was  Marc  Lemarc  asking  for  Drennen.  He 
had  hired  men,  bought  tools  and  dynamite,  or- 
dered machinery  from  the  nearest  city  where  ma- 
chinery was  to  be  had,  had  spoken  to  a  compe- 


190  WOLF  BREED 

tent  engineer  about  taking  charge  of  the  work  to 
be  done.  He  was  quite  ready  to  return  to  Mac- 
Leod's Settlement. 

"It's  all  right,  Lemarc,"  answered  Drennen. 
*'I  have  deposited  the  money  in  your  name  in  the 
Lebarge  Bank.  You  can  draw  out  whatever  you 
please  and  when  you  please.  No,  you  needn't 
wait  for  me;  I'll  overtake  you,  I  have  no  doubt. 
Oh,  that's  all  right  I'» 

Before  Drennen  had  finished  there  came  the 
second  interruption.  The  clerk  came  to  announce 
the  arrival  of  Israel  Weyeth,  who,  upon  Sothern's 
promotion,  was  to  fill  the  vacant  position  of  Local 
Manager. 

"Mr.  Sothern,"  said  Drennen  while  the  clerk 
was  still  in  the  room,  "I  shall  remember  your 
promise  of  a  hunting  trip  with  me.  I  am  going 
up  to  MacLeod's  Settlement  Immediately.  I  trust 
to  see  you  again  very  soon." 

"Mr.  Drennen,"  answered  the  old  man  quietly, 
"I  am  honoured  in  your  friendship.  You  have 
done  me  a  kindness  beyond  measure  but  not  be- 
yond my  appreciation." 

They  shook  hands  gravely,  their,  eyes  seeking 
to  disguise  the  yearning  which  stood  in  each  soul. 
Then  Drennen  went  out. 

"There,  sir,"  cried  Sothern,  and  the  clerk  mar- 
velled at  the  note  in  his  voice  which  sounded  so 
like  pride  of  ownership,  "there  goes  a  man  from 


GOLDEN  GIRL  PAYS  AN  OLD  DEBT     191 

whom  the  world  shall  hear  one  of  these  days. 
His  feet  are  at  last  in  the  right  path." 

The  clerk,  going  to  usher  in  Israel  Weyeth,  did 
not  hear  the  last  low  words: 

"For  which,  thank  God  .  .  .  and  Ygerne  Bel- 
laire!" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    PASSION    OF    ERNESTINE    DUMONT 

A  MAN'S  life  may  pass  for  him  like  a  slow 
winding  stream  through  open  meadows  in 
gentle  valley  lands,  its  waters  clear  and  untroubled 
by  rapids,  falls  and  eddies.  Even  a  man  with  such 
a  life  has  his  vital  story.  But  it  is  pastoral,  idyllic, 
like  a  quiet  painting  done  in  a  soft  monochrome. 
Or  a  man's  life  may  shake  him  with  a  series  of 
shocks  which,  to  the  soul,  are  cataclysmic.  And 
then  the  man,  be  his  strength  what  it  may,  since 
he  is  human  and  it  is  not  infinite,  is  caught  like  a 
dry  leaf  in  the  maelstrom  of  life  about  him  and 
within  him,  and  is  sucked  down  into  depths  where 
the  light  does  not  penetrate  or  is  flung  from  the 
mad  current  into  a  quiet  cove  where  he  may  rest 
with  the  din  of  the  angry  waters  in  his  ears. 

Drennen  had  been  over  the  falls;  he  now  rested 
in  such  a  cove.  He  had  battled  furiously  with 
fury  itself;  now  he  was  soothingly  touched  by  the 
tide  of  gentler  emotions.  He  did  not  think; 
rather  he  dreamed.  He  had  looked  for  the  light 
the  other  day  and  had  found  it  everywhere.   Now, 

192 


PASSION  OF  ERNESTINE  DUMONT     1931 

most  of  all  did  It  seem  to  be  within  himself.  We 
see  the  outside  world  as  we  carry  It  within  us;  the 
eyes,  rather  mirrors  than  telescopes,  reflect  what 
Is  Intimate  rather  than  that  which  lies  beyond. 

To-day,  riding  back  along  the  trail,  Drennen 
saw  how  golden  were  the  fresh  tips  of  the  firs; 
how  each  young  tree  was  crowned  with  a  star; 
how  each  budding  pine  lifted  skyward  what  re- 
sembled a  little  cluster  of  wax  candles.  Stars  and 
candles,  celestial  light  and  light  man-kindled, 
glory  of  God  and  glory  of  man. 

With  a  rebound,  it  seemed,  the  young  soul  of 
the  David  Drennen  of  twenty  had  again  entered 
his  breast.  There  had  been  a  time  when  he 
had  loved  life,  the  world,  the  men  about  him; 
when  he  had  looked  pleasantly  into  the  faces  of 
friends  and  strangers;  when  he  had  been  ready 
to  form  a  new  tie  of  comradeship  and  had  no 
thought  of  hatred;  when  he  had  credited  other 
men  with  kindly  feelings  and  honest  hearts.  That 
time  had  come  again. 

Somewhere  ahead  of  him  Marc  Lemarc  was 
riding.  Drennen  did  not  think  unkindly  of  him. 
He  realised  that  the  hatred  he  had  felt  a  few 
days  ago  had  been  born  of  delirium  and  madness 
and  jealousy.  Ygerne  sought  to  retrieve  the  long 
lost  Bellaire  fortune;  Lemarc's  interests  jumped 
with  hers  in  the  matter.  One  had  the  map,  the 
other  the  key;  they  must  work  together.      Le- 


194  WOLF  BREED 

marc  was  riding  with  the  jingle  of  Drennen's 
money  in  his  pocket  and  Drennen  was  glad  to 
think  of  it.  He  was  helping  Ygeme,  he  was  not 
sorry  to  help  Lemarc  at  the  same  time.  This 
morning  he  had  had  one  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars! He  smiled,  then  laughed  aloud.  One  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  I  Now  he  had  fifty  thou- 
sand; already  he  had  opened  his  hand  and  poured 
out  fifty  thousand  dollars!  That  was  the  old 
Drennen,  the  headlong,  generous  Drennen,  the 
Drennen  who  took  more  delight  in  giving  than  In 
spending,  and  no  delight  in  selfishness.  He  had 
done  all  that  he  could  do  to  help  wipe  the  stain 
from  his  father's  name;  he  had  lifted  a  burden 
from  his  father's  shoulders.  While  he  could  not 
understand  everything  he  knew  that.  And  he  had 
staked  Lemarc. 

Another  man  would  have  called  for  Lemarc's 
bills,  have  gone  over  them,  have  moved  slowly 
and  with  caution.  That  would  not  have  been 
Drennen.  He  gave  forty  thousand  for  his  fath- 
er's name;  he  placed  ten  thousand  where  Ygerne 
could  use  it  through  Lemarc.  He  had  fifty  thou- 
sand left  and  he  felt  that  he  had  not  done  enough, 
that  he  had  kept  back  too  much.  True,  the 
thought  had  flickered  through  his  brain:  *'And 
suppose  that  Lemarc  should  take  the  cash  and  let 
the  credit  go?  Suppose  that  he  should  be  con- 
tented with  the  ten  thousand  dollar  bird  in  his 


PASSION  OF  ERNESTINE  DUMONT     [195 

hand  and  never  mind  the  hypothetical  Bellaire 
treasure  bird  In  the  bush?"  Well,  then,  it  would 
be  worth  It  to  Ygerne ;  just  for  her  to  know  what 
sort  Lemarc  was.  Drennen  had  more  money 
than  he  needed;  he  had  an  assured  Income  from 
the  newly  rediscovered  Golden  Girl;  there  were 
still  other  mines  In  the  world  for  the  man  who 
could  find  them;  and  he  had  merely  done  for 
Ygerne  Bellaire  the  first  thing  she  had  asked  of 
him.  In  Drennen's  eyes,  In  this  intoxicated  mood, 
it  seemed  a  very  little  thing. 

He  had  bought  a  horse  In  Lebarge,  the  finest 
animal  to  be  had  In  the  week's  search.  He  had 
supplied  himself  with  new  clothes,  feeling  In  him- 
self, reborn,  the  desire  for  the  old  garb  of  a 
gentleman.  He  had  telegraphed  two  hundred 
miles  for  a  great  box  of  chocolates  for  Ygerne; 
he  had  sent  a  message  twice  that  distance  for  his 
first  bejewelled  present  for  her.  Nothing  in  Le- 
barge was  to  be  considered;  the  golden  bauble 
which  came  In  answer  to  his  message,  a  delicate 
necklace  pendant  glorious  with  pearls,  cost  him 
three  hundred  dollars  and  contented  him. 

He  was  happy.  He  opened  his  mind  to  the 
joy  of  life  calling  to  him;  he  closed  his  thoughts 
to  all  that  was  not  bright.  Ygerne  was  waiting 
for  him;  John  Harper  Drennen  was  not  dead, 
but  alive  and  near  at  hand.  The  man  who  had 
judged  hard  and  bitterly  before,  now  suspended 


196  WOLF  BREED 

judgment.  It  was  not  his  place  to  condemn  his 
fellow  man;  certainly  he  was  not  to  sit  in  trial 
on  his  own  father  and  the  woman  who  would  one 
day  be  his  wife  I  The  lone  wolf  had  come  back 
to  the  pack.  He  wanted  companionship,  friend- 
ship, love. 

It  had  been  close  to  eleven  o'clock  when  he  rode 
out  of  Lebarge.  He  counted  upon  his  horse's 
strength  and  a  moonlit  night  to  bring  him  back 
to  the  Settlement  in  time  for  a  dawn  tryst  down 
the  river  at  a  certain  fallen  log.  He  pushed  on 
steadily  until  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon;  then 
he  stopped,  resting  his  horse  and  himself,  tarry- 
ing for  a  little  food  and  tobacco.  At  five  o'clock 
he  again  swung  into  the  saddle  and  pushed  on. 

He  knew  that  Lemarc  was  ahead  of  him. 
Here,  where  tracks  were  few,  were  those  of 
Lemarc's  horse.  Drennen  had  not  loitered  and 
he  knew  that  Lemarc  was  riding  hard.  Well, 
Lemarc,  too,  rode  with  gold  in  his  pockets 
and  in  his  heart  further  hope  of  gold.  If  he  were 
running  way  with  the  money  Drennen  had  ad- 
vanced he  was  running  the  wrong  way.  Drennen 
did  not  break  off  in  the  little  song  upon  his  lips 
at  the  thought.  .  .  .  More  than  once  that  day 
he  found  himself  humming  snatches  of  Ramon 
Garcia's  refrain. 

"Dios!   It  is  sweet  to  be  young  and  to  love!" 


PASSION  OF  ERNESTINE  DUMONT     197 

Fragrant  dusk  crept  down  about  him,  warm, 
sweet-scented  night  floated  out  from  the  dusk,  a 
few  stars  shone,  the  moon  passed  up  above  the 
ridge  at  his  right  and  made  of  the  Little  Mac- 
Leod's racing  water  alternate  lustrous  ebony  and 
glistening  silver,  a  liquid  mosaic.  Drennen  fell 
silent,  a  deep  content  upon  him. 

Scarcely  two  miles  from  MacLeod's  Settle- 
ment, and  an  episode  offered  Itself  which  In  the 
end  seemed  to  have  no  deeper  purpose  than  to 
show  to  the  man  himself  how  wonderful  was  the 
change  wrought  within  him.  He  had  crested  a 
gentle  rise,  had  had  for  a  moment  the  glint  of 
a  light  in  his  eyes  and  had  wondered  at  it  idly, 
knowing  that  not  yet  could  he  see  the  Settlement 
and  that  this  was  no  hour,  long  after  mid- 
night, for  folks  to  be  abroad  there.  Then, 
dropping  down  into  the  copse  which  made 
black  the  hollow,  he  remembered  the  old,  ruined 
cabin  which  had  stood  here  so  long  tenantless  and 
rotting,  realising  that  the  light  he  had  seen  came 
from  it.  Lemarc?  That  was  his  first  thought 
as  again  he  caught  the  uncertain  flicker  through 
the  low  branches.  The  man  might  have  been 
thrown  in  the  darkness,  his  horse  could  easily 
have  caught  a  sprain  from  the  uneven  trail,  slip- 
pery and  treacherous. 

*Toor  devil,'*  reflected  Drennen.  "To  get  laid 
up  this  near  the  end  of  his  ride." 


198  WOLF  BREED 

His  trail  led  close  to  the  tumbled  down  cabin. 
Once  In  the  little  clearing  he  made  out  quickly  that 
a  fire  was  burning  fitfully  upon  the  old  rock  hearth. 
He  could  see  its  flames  and  smoke  clearly  through 
the  wall  itself  which  was  no  longer  a  wall  but 
the  debris  of  rotted  logs  with  here  and  there  a 
timber  still  sound  and  hanging  Insecurely.  He 
saw  no  one.  Coming  closer,  still  making  out  no 
human  form  In  the  circle  of  light  or  In  the  gloom 
about  It,  he  heard  a  low  moaning,  as  fitful  as  the 
uncertain  firelight.  And  then,  as  he  drew  his 
horse  to  a  standstill,  he  made  out  upon  the  floor 
near  the  fire  and  In  the  shadow  of  one  of  the 
hanging  timbers,  an  indistinct  form.  For  an  In- 
■stant  the  low  moaning  was  quieted ;  then  again  It 
came  to  his  ears,  seeming  to  speak  of  suffering 
unutterable. 

Dismounted,  Drennen  came  swiftly  through  the 
yawning  door  to  stand  at  the  side  of  the  prone 
figure.  A  great,  unreasonable  and  still  a  natural 
fear  sprang  up  In  his  heart;  he  went  down  upon 
his  knees  with  a  half  sob  gripping  at  his  throat. 
It  was  a  woman,  her  body  twisting  before  him, 
and  he  was  afraid  that  It  was  Ygerne  and  that  she 
was  dying.  Her  face  was  hidden,  an  arm  was 
flung  up,  her  loosened  hair  fell  wildly  about  her 
temples  and  cheeks.  Again  the  moaning  ceased; 
the  woman  turned  so  that  her  cheek  lay  upon 
the  loose  dirt  of  the  broken  floor,  her  eyes  wide 


PASSION  OF  ERNESTINE  DUMONT     199 

upon  him.  A  sigh  inflated  his  chest  and  fell  away 
like  a  whisper  of  thanks.  The  woman  was  not 
Ygerne,  thank  God  I 

*'Go  away!'*  She  panted  the  words  at  him, 
venom  In  her  glance.  Then  abruptly  she  turned 
her  face  from  him. 

A  swift  revulsion  of  feeling  swept  through  him. 
Just  now  he  had  thanked  God  that  this  was  not 
Ygerne;  just  now  he  had  been  so  glad  In  his  re- 
lief that  there  was  no  room  for  pity  in  his  glad- 
ness. Now,  as  involuntarily  his  old  joy  surged 
back  upon  him,  he  felt  a  quick  sting  of  shame. 
He  had  no  right  to  be  so  utterly  happy  when  there 
was  suffering  and  sorrow  such  as  this.  As  he 
had  not  yet  fully  understood,  now  did  he  grasp 
in  a  second  that  change  which  had  come  about 
within  himself.  There  was  tenderness  in  his  eyes, 
there  were  pity  and  sympathy  as  he  stooped  still 
lower. 

^'Ernestine,"  he  said  softly.  "What  Is  it,  Er- 
nestine? I  want  to  help  you  if  I  can.  What  is 
the  matter,  Ernestine?" 

Her  body,  stilled  while  he  spoke,  writhed  again 
passionately. 

"Go  away  I"  she  panted  out  at  him  as  she  had 
done  before,  save  that  now  she  did  not  turn  her 
face  to  look  at  him.  "Of  all  men,  Dave  Drennen, 
I  hate  you  most.  Good  God,  how  I  hate  you! 
Go  away!" 


200  WOLF  BREED 

There  came  a  sob  Into  her  voice,  a  shudder 
shaking  the  prone  body.  Drennen,  knowing  little 
of  the  ways  of  women,  wanting  only  to  help  her, 
uncertain  and  hesitant,  knelt  motionless,  staring 
at  her  with  troubled  eyes.  Over  and  over  the 
questions  pricked  his  brain:  **What  was  she  do- 
ing out  here  alone  at  this  time  of  night?  What 
had  happened  to  her?'* 

He  thought  for  a  moment  of  springing  to  his 
feet,  of  hastening  down  the  two  miles  of  trail  to 
the  Settlement,  of  rushing  aid  to  the  stricken 
woman.  Then  another  thought:  "She  may  die 
while  I  am  gone!  It  will  take  an  hour  to  get 
help  to  her." 

^'Ernestine,"  he  said  again,  gently,  laying  his 
hand  upon  her  shaking  shoulder.  "I  know  you 
don't  like  me.  But  at  times  like  this  that  doesn't 
matter.  Tell  me  what  has  happened  ...  let  me 
help  you.    I  want  to  help  you  if  I  can,  Ernestine." 

He  was  sincere  In  that;  he  wanted  to  help  her. 
It  didn't  matter  who  It  was  suffering;  he  wanted 
to  see  no  more  suffering  In  his  world.  He  wanted 
every  one  to  be  as  happy  as  he  was  going  to  be. 
There  was  a  new  yearning  upon  him,  that  yearn- 
ing which  Is  the  true  first  born  of  a  man's  love, 
a  yearning  to  do  some  little  good  in  the  world 
that  he  may  have  this  to  think  upon  and  not  just 
the  bad  which  he  has  done. 
^     She  lay  very  still,  making  him  no  answer.    He 


PASSION  OF  ERNESTINE  DUMONT     201 

could  not  guess  if  she  were  suffering  from  physical 
injury  or  from  the  other  hurt  which  is  harder  to 
bear.  He  could  not  guess  if  she  were  growing 
calm  or  if  she  were  losing  consciousness.  He 
could  only  plead  with  her,  his  voice  softer  than 
Ernestine  Dumont  had  ever  heard  the  voice  of 
David  Drennen,  begging  her  to  let  him  do  some- 
thing for  her. 

With  a  sudden,  swift  movement,  she  turned 
about,  sitting  up,  her  arms  about  her  knees,  her 
head  with  its  loosened  hair  thrown  back.  For 
the  first  time  he  saw  her  face  clearly.  There  was 
dirt  upon  it  as  though  she  had  fallen  upon  the 
trail,  face  down.  There  was  a  smear  of  blood 
across  her  mouth.  There  was  a  scratch  upon  her 
forehead,  and  a  trickle  of  blood  had  run  down 
across  her  soiled  brow.  He  saw  that,  while  she 
had  sobbed,  no  tears  had  come  to  make  their  glis- 
tening furrows  through  the  dust  upon  her  cheeks. 
He  thought  that  in  his  time  he,  too,  had  known 
such  tearless  agony. 

*Tour  help!"  She  flung  the  words  at  him 
passionately.  "I'd  die  before  Td  take  your 
help,  Dave  Drennen.  What  do  you  care  for 
mcr 

"Fm  sorry  for  you',  Ernestine,"  he  said  gently. 

She  laughed  at  him  bitterly,  her  body  rocking 
back  and  forth. 

"Why  don't  you  go?"  she  cried  hotly.     "Go 


202  WOLF  BREED 

on  to  MacLeod's.  Your  little  fool  is  waiting  for 
you,  I  suppose,"  she  sneered  at  him. 

Dropping  her  head  to  her  upgathered  knees, 
her  body  rocking  stormily,  moaning  a  little,  she 
broke  off.     Drennen  rose  to  his  feet. 

"I'll  go,"  he  said.  "Shall  I  send  some  one  to 
you?" 

When  she  didn't  answer  he  turned  away  from 
her.  He  had  done  all  that  he  could  do.  And, 
besides,  he  thought  that  the  woman's  physical  in- 
juries were  superficial  and  that  her  distress  was 
doubtless  that  of  mere  violent  hysteria. 

"Come  back  I"  she  called  sharply. 

He  turned  and  again  came  to  her  side,  stand- 
ing over  her,  his  hat  in  his  hand,  his  face  showing 
only  the  old  pity  for  her.  Once  more  she  had 
flung  up  her  head.  In  the  eyes  staring  up  at 
him  was  a  hunger  which  even  David  Drennen 
could  not  misread. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said  after  a  little,  her  voice 
more  quiet  than  it  had  been.  "Do  you  love  Ygerne 
Bellaire,  Dave?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered  quietly. 

"You  fool!"  she  cried  at  him.  "Why  is  a  man 
always  blind  to  what  another  woman  can  see  so 
plainly?    Don't  you  know  what  she  is?" 

"Let*s  not  talk  of  her,  Ernestine,"  he  said  a 
little  sharply. 

"She's  too  holy  for  a  woman  like  me  to  talk 


PASSION  OF  ERNESTINE  DUMONT     203 

about,  Is  she?  She's  a  little  cat,  Dave  Drennen! 
Can't  you  see  that?  Don't  you  know  what  she  Is 
after  .  .  ." 

^'Ernestine!"  he  commanded  harshly.  *'If  I 
can  help  you,  let  me  do  it.  If  I  can't,  I'll  go.  In 
either  case  we'll  not  talk  of  Miss  Bellaire." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously,  studying  him, 
seeming  for  an  instant  to  have  grown  quiet  in 
mind  as  In  body. 

*'She  doesn't  love  you,"  she  said  calmly.  "Not 
as  I  love  you,  Dave.  If  she  did  .  .  .  nothing 
would  matter.  She's  got  baby  eyes  and  a  baby 
face  .  .  .  and  she  runs  with  men  like  Sefton  and 
Lemarcl" 

''I  tell  you,"  he  cried  sternly,  "I'll  not  listen  to 
you  talk  of  her.    If  I  can't  help  you  .  .  ." 

Her  eyes  shone  hard  upon  his.  Then  her  head 
dropped  again  and  once  more  she  was  moaning 
as  when  he  had  first  heard  her,  moaning  and 
weeping,  her  body  twisting.  Again  the  man  was 
all  uncertainty. 

"You  would  do  anything  for  her  I"  she  cried 
brokenly.     "You  would  do  nothing  for  me." 

"I  would  do  anything  for  you  that  you  would 
let  me  and  that  I  could  do,  Ernestine,"  he  said 
gently. 

"And,"  she  went  on,  unheeding,  "it  is  because 
of  you  that  I  am  like  this  to-night  I" 

"Because  of  me?"  wonderingly. 


2P4  WOLF  BREED 

"Yes,"  with  a  fierce  sob.  "Because  he  knew  I 
loved  you.  ...  I  would  not  have  shot  you  that 
night  at  Pere  Marquette's  if  I  hadn't  loved 
you  I  .  .  .  Do  you  think  a  woman  is  made  like  a 
man?  .  .  .  George  has  done  this!  If  he  laid 
hands  upon  her,  upon  your  holy  lady  Fm  not  to 
talk  about  .  .  ." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  he  commanded.  "Has 
Kootanie  George  done  this  to  you?" 

"Dave!"  Suddenly  she  had  flung  up  her  arms, 
staring  at  him  strangely.  "Do  you  think  I  am 
dying?  He  hurt  me  here  .  .  .  and  here  .  .  . 
and  here."  Her  hands  fluttered  about  her  body, 
touching  her  throat,  her  breast,  her  side.  The 
hands,  lowered  a  moment  were  again  lifted, 
stretched  upward  toward  him,  her  eyes  pleading 
with  him.  Slowly  she  was  sinking  back;  he 
thought  that  in  truth  the  woman  was  dying  or  at 
the  least  losing  consciousness. 

"Can't  you  help  me?"  she  moaned.  "Won't 
you  hold  me  ...  I  am  falling.  .  .  ." 

Upon  his  knees  he  slipped  his  arms  about  her. 
He  felt  a  hard  stiffening  of  the  muscles  of  her 
body,  then  a  slow  relaxing.  He  was  laying  her 
back  gently,  when  she  shook  her  head. 

"Hold  me  up,"  she  whispered,  the  words  faint 
though  her  lips  were  close  to  his  ear.  "I'd 
smother  if  I  lay  down.  .  .  ." 

So  he  held  her  for  a  long  time,  fearing  for  her. 


I 


PASSION  OF  ERNESTINE  DUMONT     205 

at  loss  for  a  thing  to  do.  The  flickering  firelight 
showed  his  face  troubled  and  solicitous,  hers  half 
smiling  now  as  though  she  were  content  to  suffer 
so  long  as  he  held  her.  Presently  she  put  her 
head  back  a  little  further,  her  eyes  meeting  his. 

"You  are  good,  Dave,"  she  whispered.  *'Good 
to  me.  I  have  not  been  good  to  you,  have  I? 
Would  you  be  a  little  sorry  for  me  if  I  died?" 

"Don't  talk  that  way,  Ernestine,"  he  besought 
her.    "You  are  not  going  to  die." 

She  put  up  one  hand  and  pushed  the  hair  back 
from  his  brow.  He  flinched  a  little  at  the  inti- 
macy of  the  touch  but  she  did  not  seem  to  notice. 
She  was  smiling  at  him  now,  all  hint  of  pain  gone 
from  her  eyes  for  the  moment. 

"If  you  had  loved  me,"  she  said  gently,  "we 
both  would  have  been  happy.  Now  I'll  never 
be  happy,  Dave,  and  you'll  never  be  happy.  She 
won't  make  you  happy.  She'll  make  a  fool  of 
you  and  then  .  .  ." 

Again  she  grew  silent,  her  lids  lowered.  Dren- 
nen  thought  that  she  was  sinking  Into  a  quiet  sleep. 
He  did  not  stir  as  the  moments  slipped  by.  A 
stick  on  the  old  hearth  snapping  and  falling  drew 
to  it  Ernestine's  eyes.  Then  they  came  again  to 
Drennen.  While  she  looked  at  him  she  seemed 
not  to  be  seeing  him  or  thinking  of  him.  She 
seemed,  rather,  to  be  listening  for  some  sound 
she  expected  to  hear.     Again  she  was  very  still, 


2o6  WOLF  BREED 

the  firelight  finding  an  odd  smile  upon  her  face. 
She  had  wiped  much  of  the  dust  away  and  her 
pretty  face,  a  little  hard  at  most  time,  was  sof- 
tened by  the  half  light.  After  a  little  she  sighed. 
Then,  swiftly,  she  slipped  from  Drennen's  arms. 

"I  suppose  you  think  I  am  a  fool,"  she  laughed 
strangely.  *'Well,  I  know  that  you  are,  Dave 
DrennenI  Now,  go  away,  will  you?  Or  do  I 
have  to  crawl  away  from  here  to  get  away  from 
you?  My  God  I"  a  sudden  passion  again  break- 
ing through  the  ice  of  her  tone,  '*I  wish  I  had 
killed  you  the  other  night.  Before  .  .  .  she 
came  I" 

No  other  word  did  Drennen  draw  from  her. 
She  sat  as  she  had  sat  a  little  while  ago,  her  arms 
flung  about  her  knees,  her  face  hidden  in  her 
arms.    And  so,  at  last,  he  left  her. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  LAW  AND  A  MAN's  DESIRE 

DRENNEN  slept  two  hours  that  night.  He 
awoke  rested,  refreshed,  eager.  He  did 
not  need  sleep.  He  was  Youth's  own,  tireless, 
stimulated  with  the  golden  elixir. 

Ygerne  must  not  be  before  him  at  the  trystlng 
place ;  she  must  not  wait  for  him  a  short  instant. 
It  was  his  place  to  be  there  to  welcome  her.  She 
would  come  with  the  early  dawn;  he  must  come 
earlier  than  the  dawn  itself. 

When  he  came  to  the  old  fallen  log  the  smile 
upon  his  lips,  in  his  eyes,  bespoke  a  deep,  sweet 
tenderness.  He  had  brought  with  him  the  two 
gifts  for  her.  He  put  the  box  of  candy  in  the 
grass,  covering  it,  planning  to  have  her  search 
for  it.  He  felt  like  a  boy;  she  must  join  with 
him  in  a  childplay.  The  pendant  necklace,  its 
pearls  as  pure  and  soft  as  tears,  he  placed  upon 
the  log  itself,  in  a  little  hollow,  covering  it  with 
a  piece  of  bark.    Then  he  found  her  note. 

It  was  very  short;  he  read  it  at  a  sweeping 
glance.     His  brain  caught  the  words;  his  mind 

207 


208  WOLF  BREED 

refused  to  grasp  their  meaning.    And  yet  Ygeme 
had  written  clearly: 

*^Dear  Mr.  Drennen:  The  greetings  of  Ygerne,  Coun- 
tess of  Bellaire,  to  the  Son  of  a  Thief!  Thank  you  for 
a  new  kind  of  summer  flirtation.  May  your  next  one 
be  as  pleasant.  A  man  of  such  wonderful  generosity  de- 
serves great  happiness.    Good-bye.    Ygerne." 

Simple  enough.  And  yet  the  words  meant 
nothing  to  him.  By  his  foot  was  a  square  box 
of  chocolates  peeping  out  at  him.  He  had  tele- 
graphed .  .  .  where  was  it?  ...  to  Edmont- 
ville  for  them.  They  were  for  Ygerne.  There 
on  the  log,  right  where  she  had  sat,  under  the 
little  chip  of  bark,  was  her  necklace  of  pearls. 
She  was  coming  for  it  in  a  moment,  coming  like 
Aurora's  own  sweet  self  through  the  dawn.  He 
had  telegraphed  for  that,  too.  It  was  his  first 
present  for  her. 

The  Son  of  a  Thief!  The  Countess  of  Bel- 
laire !  That  meant  David  Drennen,  son  of  John 
Harper  Drennen;  it  meant  Ygerne,  the  girl- 
woman  who  had  come  into  David  Drennen's  life 
before  it  was  too  late,  who  had  made  of  him  an- 
other man. 

He  sat  down  on  the  log  and  filled  his  pipe.  The 
note  he  let  lie,  half  folded,  upon  his  knee.  His 
eyes  went  thoughtfully  across  the  thin  mist  hang- 


THE  LAW  AND  A  MAN^S  DESIRE     209 

ing  like  gauze  above  the  river;  then  turned  ex- 
pectantly toward  the  Settlement.  She  would  come 
in  a  moment.  And  the  glory  of  her  I  The  eternal 
quivering,  throbbing  glory  of  the  woman  a  man 
loves !  She  would  come  and  he  would  gather  her 
into  his  arms.  .  .  .  For  that  the  world  had  been 
made,  for  that  he  had  lived  until  now.  .  .  . 

He  had  lighted  his  pipe  and  was  puffing  at  it 
slowly,  each  little  cloud  of  smoke  coming  at  the 
regular  interval  from  its  brethren.  And  he  did 
not  know  that  he  was  smoking.  He  was  not  think- 
ing. For  the  moment  he  was  scarcely  experienc- 
ing an  emotion.  He  knew  that  Marshall  Sothern 
was  John  Harper  Drennen;  he  knew  that  the 
Golden  Girl  had  been  sold;  he  knew  that  a  box 
of  candy  and  a  pearl  necklace  were  waiting  for 
Ygerne;  he  knew  that  there  was  a  note  upon  his 
knee  which  purported  to  be  from  her.  Each 
of  these  things  was  quite  clear  and  separate 
in  his  mind;  the  strange  thing  about  them  was 
that  they  had  in  some  way  lost  significance  to 
him. 

Presently,  with  a  start,  he  took  his  pipe  from 
his  lips  and  ran  a  hand  across  his  forehead. 
What  was  he  sitting  here  like  a  fool  for?  Either 
Ygerne  had  written  that  note  or  she  had  not.  If 
she  had  written  it  she  had  done  so  either  in  jest 
or  seriously.  He  turned  back  toward  the  Settle- 
ment.   He  did  not  think  of  the  jewelled  thing  hid- 


2IO  WOLF  BREED 

den  under  a  bit  of  bark  or  the  cardboard  box  in 
its  nest  in  the  grass. 

He  went  swiftly.  The  town  was  sleeping, 
would  not  awake  for  another  hour.  His  eyes 
were  upon  Marquette's  house  as  soon  as  the 
rambling  building  came  into  view.  There  were 
no  fires;  window  shades  were  drawn,  doors  closed. 

He  came  to  Ygerne's  window.  It,  too,  was 
closed.  Here,  also,  the  shade  was  down.  He 
tapped  softly.  When  there  was  no  answer  he 
tapped  again.  Then  he  went  to  Marquette's  door 
and  knocked  sharply. 

'*Nom  de  nom."  It  was  Pere  Marquette's 
voice,  sleepy  and  irritable.  The  old  man  was 
fumbling  with  the  bar  or  the  lock  or  whatever  it 
was  that  fastened  his  door.  He  seemed  an  eter- 
nity in  getting  the  thing  done.  Then  his  towsled 
head  and  blinking  eyes  appeared  abruptly. 

"Where  is  Miss  Bellaire?"  said  Drennen 
quietly.    "I  want  a  word  with  her." 

*'Mees  Bellaire?    Heinr 

"Yes,"  answered  Drennen  a  trifle  impatiently, 
though  he  was  holding  himself  well  in  hand. 
"Miss  Bellaire.     I  know  it  is  early,  but  .  .  ." 

Pere  Marquette  blinked  at  him  curiously  with 
brightening,  birdlike  eyes.  He  didn't  like  Dren- 
nen; God  knows  he  had  little  enough  reason  to 
see  any  good  in  this  gaunt,  wolf-like  man.  There 
was  a  dry  cackle  in  the  old  man's  voice  as  he 


THE  LAW  AND  A  MAN'S  DESIRE     211 

spoke  again,  the  door  closing  slowly  so  that  only 
half  of  his  face  with  one  bright  eye  looked  out. 

"Early?      Mais,    non,    m*sieu!      It    is    late! 
M'am'selle,  she  is  gone  il  y  a  quelques  heures,  al- 
ready!    Pouf !    Like  that,  in  a  hurry." 
.  ''Gone?"      demanded     Drennen.        ''Where? 
When?" 

''Where?  Who  knows?  When?"  He 
shrugged.  "Two,  t'ree,  four  hours,  peutetre 
six." 

"Who  was  with  her?" 

"Ho,"  cackled  the  old  man  so  that  Drennen's 
hands  itched  to  be  at  the  withered  throat,  "where 
she  go,  there  are  men  to  follow !  Me,  when  I  am 
yo'ng,  before  Mamma  Jeanne  make  me  happy, 
I  .  .  ." 

"Damn  you  and  your  Mamma  Jeanne  I"  cried 
Drennen.  "Tell  me  about  this  girl.  Who  went 
with  her?" 

"Not  so  many,"  muttered  Marquette,  "be- 
cause she  go  quiet,  in  the  dark.  In  the  day  the 
whole  Settlement  would  follow,  non?  But  Marc 
Lemarc,  he  go;  an*  M'sieu  Sefton,  he  go;  an' 
M'sleu  Ramon,  he  go.  .  .  ." 

"I'll  give  you  a  hundred  dollars  If  you  can  tell 
me  which  way  they  went!'*  broke  in  Drennen 
crisply.  "I'll  give  you  five  hundred  if  you  can  tell 
me  why?" 

**Qui  saitT*  grumbled  Marquette.     "They  go, 


212  WOLF  BREED 

they  go  in  the  dark,  they  go  with  horses  runnin' 
like  hell.  M'am'selle  sleep;  then  come  Lemarc, 
fas',  to  knock  on  her  window.  I  hear.  She  dress 
damn  fas',  too,  or  she  don't  dress  at  all;  in  one 
minute  she's  outside  with  Lemarc.  I  hear  Sefton ; 
I  hear  Ramon  Garcia,  a  little  song  in  his  throat. 
I  hear  horses.  I  hear  M'am'selle  Ygerne  laugh 
like  it's  f on !  Then  she  wake  me  an'  she  pay  me ; 
I  see  Lemarc  give  her  money,  gol'  money,  to  pay. 
Me,  I  go  back  to  bed  an'  Mamma  Jeanne  suspec' 
it  might  be  I  flirt  with  the  M'am'selle  by 
dark!" 

He  chuckled  again  and  closed  the  door  as  Dren- 
nen  turned  abruptly  and  went  back  down  the 
street  towards  his  dugout. 

Marc  Lemarc  had  robbed  him  of  the  ten  thou- 
sand dollars.  He  began  there,  strangely  cool- 
thoughted.  That  didn't  matter.  He  had  half  ex- 
pected it  all  along.  He  knew  now,  clearly,  that, 
more  than  that,  he  had  half  hoped  for  it.  The 
money  meant  less  than  nothing  to  him ;  the  theft 
of  it,  he  had  thought,  would  show  Ygerne  just 
what  sort  of  man  Lemarc  was,  would  separate 
her  from  her  companions,  would  draw  her  even 
closer  to  him.  But  Ygerne,  too,  had  gone  with 
the  money  and  with  Lemarc.  Marquette  had 
seen  him  hand  her  the  gold  that  she  might  pay 
her  reckoning.  Here  was  a  contingency  upon 
which  he  had  not  counted. 


THE  LAW  AND  A  MAN'S  DESIRE     213 

As  soon  as  Lemarc  had  returned  she  had  gone. 
Sefton  had  gone  with  them.  Ramon  Garcia,  too. 
Why  Garcia? 

A  scene  he  had  not  forgotten,  which  now  he 
could  never  forget,  occupied  his  mind  so  vividly 
that  he  did  not  see  the  material  things  among 
which  he  was  walking:  Ramon  Garcia  at 
Ygerne's  window,  the  gift  of  a  few  field  flowers, 
the  kissing  of  a  white  hand. 

Men  who  had  known  Drennen  for  years  and 
who  would  have  been  surprised  at  what  was  in 
the  man's  face  yesterday,  saw  nothing  new  to  note 
in  him  to-day.  He  went  his  own  way,  he  was  si- 
lent, his  face  was  hard  and  not  to  be  read.  All 
day  he  was  about  the  Settlement,  in  his  own  dug- 
out a  large  part  of  the  time,  going  to  his  meals 
regularly  at  Joe's.  It  was  rumoured  that  he  had 
sold  his  claim;  men  began  to  doubt  it.  He  wasn't 
scattering  money  as  men  had  always  done  when 
they  had  made  a  fortune  at  a  turn  of  the  wheel; 
he  wasn't  getting  drunk  which  was  the  customary 
thing;  he  wasn't  even  looking  for  a  game  of  cards 
or  dice.  There  was  no  sign  of  any  new  purpose 
in  the  man. 

And  yet  the  purpose  was  there,  taken  swiftly, 
to  be  acted  upon  with  a  cold  leisure.  Drennen 
was  not  hurrying  now.  There  was  no  other  horse 
like  Major,  his  recently  purchased  four-year-old, 
and  Drennen  knew  it.    He  had  ridden  Major  hard 


214  WOLF  BREED 

yesterday;  to-day  the  brute  must  rest  and  be  ready 
for  more  hard  riding. 

One  thing  only  did  Drennen  do  which  excited 
mild  interest,  though  the  reason  for  the  act  was 
naturally  misunderstood.  He  went  to  Joe  and 
bought  from  him  two  heavy  revolvers.  Drennen 
had  never  been  a  gun  man,  had  ever  relied  upon 
his  own  hands  in  time  of  trouble.  But  now,  Joe 
figured  the  matter  out,  he  had  money  and  he 
meant  to  guard  against  a  hold-up. 

Entire  lack  of  haste  was  the  only  thing  re- 
markable about  David  Drennen  to-day  and 
through  the  days  which  followed.  There  was  no 
hesitation,  no  doubt,  no  being  torn  two  ways.  He 
had  made  up  his  mind  what  he  was  going  to  do. 
It  was  settled  and  not  to  be  reconsidered.  But 
he  would  not  hurry.  The  very  coolness  with 
which  his  purpose  was  taken  steadied  him  to  a 
strange  dellberateness.  He  knew  that  It  was  folly 
to  expect  to  come  up  with  Ygerne  and  the  men 
with  her  immediately.  It  would  take  time;  they 
had  fled  hastily  and  they  were  in  a  country  where 
pursuit  was  necessarily  slow.  Was  that  not  the 
reason  why  such  people  came  here  ?  And  he  told 
himself  grimly  that  it  was  an  equal  folly  to  de- 
sire to  come  upon  them  too  soon.  The  punish- 
ment he  would  mete  out  would  be  the  harder  if 
their  flight  had  seemed  crowned  with  security. 

Upon  the  second  day  he  rode  in  widening  cir- 


THE  LAW  AND  A  MAN'S  DESIRE     215 

cles  about  MacLeod's  Settlement  He  hardly 
hoped  to  pick  up  a  trail  here  where  questing  hun- 
dreds in  search  of  his  gold  had  cut  the  soft  spring 
ground  into  a  jumble  of  indecipherable  tracks. 
But,  beginning  his  own  quest  with  a  painstaking 
thoroughness  which  omitted  no  chance  however 
remote,  he  spent  the  day  in  seeking. 

At  night  he  came  again  into  camp.  He  saw  to 
the  Major's  wants  before  his  own.  He  ate  his 
meal  at  Joe's  and  having  passed  no  word  with  any 
man  came  back  to  his  dugout. 

The  supreme  blow  which  his  destiny  could  give 
him  had  been  smitten  relentlessly.  He  had  re- 
ceived it  like  the  slave  who  has  been  beaten  so 
many  times  that  he  no  longer  cries  out  or  strikes 
back  prematurely.  Like  the  tortured  bond-man 
who  makes  no  useless  protest  but  hides  in  his 
bosom  the  knife  which  one  day  he  will  plunge  into 
his  master's  throat,  Drennen  merely  bided  his 
time. 

He  saw  no  good  in  a  world  which  had  had  no 
good  to  offer  him.  He  no  longer  looked  for  the 
light.  New  shoots  of  faith,  bursting  upward  un- 
der Ygerne's  influence  from  the  dry  roots  of  the 
old,  were  in  an  instant  shrivelled  and  killed.  He 
came  to  see  that  in  an  old  world  there  was  no 
basic  law  but  that  law  which  had  held  from  the 
first  day  in  the  new  world.  There  was  no  good; 
bad  was  only  a  term  coined  for  fools  by  other 


2i6  WOLF  BREED 

fools.  Each  man  had  his  life  given  to  him,  and  he 
could  do  with  it  as  he  saw  fit.  Each  wild  thing  in 
the  depths  of  the  North  Woods  had  its  life  given 
to  it  to  do  with  as  it  saw  fit.  Each  created  being, 
were  it  not  maudlin,  strove  for  itself  alone.  It 
took  its  own  food  where  it  could  get  it,  rending 
it  with  bared  teeth  and  bloody  jaws  from  the 
weaker  creature  that  had  preyed  upon  a  still 
weaker.  It  made  its  lair  where  it  chose,  crushing 
under  its  careless  body  those  other  still  lesser 
things  which  had  not  sense  enough  or  the  oppor- 
tunity to  slip  out  from  under  it.  Love,  as  man 
looked  upon  it  or  pretended  to  look  upon  it,  was  no 
real  emotion  but  a  poetical  illusion.  Nor  was  it  so 
much  as  truly  poetical,  since  poetry  is  truth  and  this 
thing  was  a  lie.  There  was  no  love  but  the  old, 
primal  love  of  life,  a  blind,  unreasoning  instinct. 
He  did  not  love  Ygerne;  he  had  never  loved 
Ygerne  because,  in  the  nature  of  nature,  there 
could  be  no  such  thing  as  such  a  love. 

But  hatred  was  another  matter.  That  was  na- 
ture. A  man,  with  all  of  his  bluster,  cannot  get 
away  from  nature.  Don't  the  winters  freeze  and 
kill  him?  Doesn't  water  drown  him,  fire  burn 
him?  Love  had  no  place  in  nature;  hatred  was 
a  part  of  the  one  law,  the  primal  law.  The  wolf 
kills  the  rabbit  in  hot  rage;  the  black  ant  tears 
down  the  soft-bodied  caterpillar  not  so  much  in 
hunger  as  in  wrath. 


THE  LAW  AND  A  MAN'S  DESIRE     217 

The  lower  order  of  created  beings  seemed  to 
Drennen  to  be  the  truly  higher  order.  For  they 
did  not  philosophise;  they  killed  their  prey. 
They  did  not  reason  and  thus  follow  a  blind  god- 
dess; they  moved  as  their  swift  instincts  dictated 
and  made  no  mistake.  Now  he  did  not  need  to 
bolster  up  his  purpose  with  seeking  to  wander 
through  the  thousand  lanes  of  reason's  labyrinth; 
he  did  not  need  to  seek  the  fallacies  of  logic  to 
tell  him  why  he  hated  Ygerne  Bellaire  and  Marc 
Lemarc  and  Sefton  and  the  Mexican.  He  hated 
them.  There  the  fact  began  and  ended.  One 
by  one  he  would  kill  them  until  he  came  to 
Ygerne.  And  if  in  her  eyes  he  saw  that  the  ter- 
ror of  death  was  greater  than  the  terror  of  the 
suffering  he  could  inflict  upon  her  living,  then  he 
would  kill  her. 

At  first  he  thought  only  of  these  four.  But  af- 
ter a  while  in  his  thoughts  there  was  room  for 
another.  .  .  .  John  Harper  Drennen,  masquer- 
ading as  Marshall  Sothern.  Drennen  sneered  at 
his  old  hero.  The  old  man  was  a  fool  like  so 
many  other  fools.  He  had  committed  what  the 
world  calls  a  crime  and  the  weight  of  it  had  shown 
upon  him.  Drennen's  sneer  was  not  for  the 
wrong  done  but  for  the  weakness  of  allowing  suf- 
fering to  come  afterward.  The  old  man  had 
seemed  glad,  touched  almost  to  tears,  when  his 
son  had  paid  off  the  old  score.  .  .  .  And  now 


21 8  WOLF  BREED 

Drennen^s  sneer  was  for  himself.  Why  had  he 
not  kept  that  forty  thousand  dollars?  Money 
meant  power  and  power  was  all  that  he  wanted. 
Power  to  crush  men  who  would  have  crushed  him 
had  they  been  able;  power  to  seek  his  prey  where 
he  would  and  to  pull  it  down. 

Ygerne*s  note  he  never  read  the  second  time. 
He  had  had  no  need  to.  He  burned  the  paper 
and  washed  his  hands  free  of  the  ashes  which  he 
had  crumpled  in  his  palm. 

The  third  day  he  rose  early,  saddled  Major 
and  left  the  Settlement,  riding  slowly  toward  Le- 
barge.  He  had  an  idea  that  they  might  have 
gone  there  to  take  the  train.  When  half  way  to 
the  railroad  he  met  a  man  who  was  pushing  on 
strongly  toward  the  north.  The  man  stopped 
and  accosted  him.  It  was  the  mounted  police  of- 
ficer, Lieutenant  Max. 

"Mr.  Drennen,"  said  the  lieutenant  bruskly 
coming  straight  to  the  business  in  hand  after  his 
way;  "you  come  from  MacLeod's?" 

"Yes." 

"You  know  two  men  named  Sefton  and  Le- 
marc?    And  a  girl  named  Bellaire?" 

"Yes." 

"Were  they  in  MacLeod's  when  you  left?" 

"Why  do  you  ask?"  countered  Drennen 
sharply. 

"The  law  wants  them,"  replied  the  lieutenant. 


THE  LAW  AND  A  MAN'S  DESIRE     219 

Drennen  laughed. 

"So  do  I !"  he  cried  as  he  spurred  his  horse 
out  of  the  trail,  turning  eastward  now,  heading 
at  random  for  Fanning  instead  of  Lebarge. 

As  he  forded  the  Little  MacLeod  he  was  curs- 
ing Max. 

"Damn  him,"  he  muttered.  "Are  there  not 
enough  cheap  law  breakers?  Why  must  he  seek 
to  do  my  work  for  me  ?" 

So  began  Drennen's  quest  for  three  men  and 
one  girl  with  grey  eyes  and  a  sweet  body  that  was 
like  a  song,  a  girl  who  had  awakened  the  old, 
dormant  good  in  him  and  then  had  driven  him  so 
deep  into  the  black  chasm  that  no  light  entered 
where  he  was. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   LONG  TRAIL 

EACH  day  that  passed  set  its  seal  deeper  Into 
the  heart  and  soul  of  David  Drennen.  His 
eyes  grew  harder,  his  mouth  sterner.  There  came 
into  his  face  the  lines  of  his  relentless  hatred. 
Sinister  and  morose  and  implacable,  biding  his 
time  and  nursing  his  purpose,  he  grew  to  be  more 
than  ever  before  the  lone  wolf.  His  lips  which 
had  long  ago  forgo  en  how  to  smile  were  con- 
stantly set  in  an  ugly  snarl.  His  purpose  pos- 
sessed him  so  completely  that  it  had  grown  into 
an  obsession.  It  became  little  less  than  maniacal. 
He  seemed  a  man  whose  emotions  were  gone, 
swallowed  up  in  a  cool  determination.  There 
came  no  flush  to  his  face,  no  quickened  beating  of 
his  heart  when  the  trail  seemed  hot  before  him, 
no  evidence  of  disappointment  when  again  and 
again  he  learned  that  he  had  followed  a  false 
scent  and  that  he  was  no  nearer  his  prey  than  he 
had  been  at  the  beginning.  He  was  still  unhur- 
rying  as  when  he  had  ridden  out  of  MacLeod's 
Settlement.    He  would  find  what  he  sought  to-day 

220 


THE  LONG  TRAIL  221 

or  ten  years  from  to-day.  His  vengeance  would 
lose  nothing  through  delay.  On  the  other  hand, 
it  would  fall  the  heavier.  Of  late  he  had  become 
endowed  with  an  infinite  patience. 

The  last  thought  in  his  brain  at  night  was  the 
first  thought  when  he  woke.  It  was  unchanging 
day  after  day,  week  after  week,  month  after 
month.  If  he  must  wait  even  longer  it  would 
remain  unaltered  year  after  year. 

His  eyes  had  grown  to  be  keener  than  knives, 
restless,  watchful,  bright  with  suspicion.  Nowhere 
throughout  the  breadth  of  the  land  did  he  have 
a  friend.  What  he  felt  for  others  was  paid  back 
to  him  in  his  own  currency:  distrust,  dislike,  si- 
lence. 

But,  through  whatever  faijidistances  he  went,  he 
was  generally  known  by  repute  and  inspired  inter- 
est. Men  stood  aloof  but  they  watched  him  and 
spoke  of  him  among  themselves.  No  longer  did 
they  call  him  No-luck  Drennen.  He  came  to  be 
known  as  Lucky  Drennen.  Word  had  gone  about 
that  it  was  indeed  true  that  he  had  rediscovered 
the  old,  lost  Golden  Girl  and  that  he  had  made  a 
fortune  from  its  sale  to  the  Northwestern  people. 
The  mine  was  operating  already;  experts  said  that 
it  was  greater  than  the  Duchess  which  electrified 
the  mining  world  in  1897  when  Copworth  and 
Kennely  brought  it  into  prominence;  and  the 
Golden  Girl  was  paying  a  royalty  to  David  Dren- 


222  WOLF  BREED 

nen.  Drennen  himself  did  not  know  how  his  ac- 
count at  the  Lebarge  bank  took  upon  itself  new 
importance  every  third  month  when  Marshall 
Sothern  deposited  the  tenth  share  of  the  net  re- 
ceipts. 

Seeking  Ygerne  Bellaire  and  those  with  her, 
Drennen  had  gone  from  Fanning  into  Whirlwind 
Valley,  across  the  Pass  and  into  the  forests  be- 
yond Neuve  Patrie.  He  had  followed  rumours 
of  three  men  and  a  woman  and  after  six  or  seven 
weeks  came  upon  them,  trappers  and  the  wife 
of  one  of  them.  He  showed  nothing  of  his  emo- 
tions as  he  stared  at  them  with  cold,  hard  eyes. 
He  went  back  to  Fanning,  crossed  the  MacLeod 
to  Brunswick  Towers  and  to  the  new  village  of 
Qu'  Appelle.  Spring  had  passed  into  summer  and 
he  had  had  no  clue  which  was  not  a  lie  like  the 
first.  In  all  seeming  the  earth  had  opened  to 
receive  those  whom  he  followed. 

Since  he  so  seldom  spoke,  since  when  he  did  it 
was  to  ask  concerning  three  men  and  a  woman, 
those  who  knew  anything  of  him  at  all  knew  that 
he  was  seeking  Sefton,  Lemarc,  Garcia  and  a  girl 
whom  those  who  had  heard  of  her  from  the  men 
of  MacLeod's  Settlement,  called  "the  Princess." 
A  figure  of  interest  already,  Drennen  gained 
double  interest  now. 

"He'll  find  them  one  day,  mes  chers^  grunted 
the  big  blacksmith  at  St.  Anne's.     "He'll  do  any- 


THE  LONG  TRAIL  223 

thing,  that  man.  Le  bon  Diahle  is  his  papa. 
Heinf  Foyez,  mon  petit  stupide!  Last  week,  be- 
cause he  needs  no  more  and  because  the  devil  likes 
him,  he  finds  gold  again  in  the  Nez  Cassel  Nom 
d'un  gros  pore!  But  who  has  dreamed  to  find 
gold  in  the  Nez  Casse?  Oho  I  Some  day  he 
comes  up  with  three  man  and  la  princesse.  And 
then  .  .  ." 

He  broke  off,  plunging  his  hot  iron  into  his  tub 
of  water,  so  that  the  hissing  of  the  heated  metal 
and  the  angry  puff  of  steam  might  conclude  in 
fitting  eloquence  the  thing  he  had  in  mind. 

Once,  just  after  Drennen  had  for  the  second 
time  in  six  months  found  gold,  he  heard  the  new 
epithet  which  had  been  given  him :  Lucky  Dren- 
nen. He  turned  and  stared  at  the  man  who  had 
spoken  the  name  so  that  the  fellow  fell  back, 
flushing  and  paling  under  the  terrible  eyes.  Then, 
with  his  snarling  laugh,  Drennen  passed  on. 

Until  the  winter  came  to  lock  the  gateways 
into  the  mountains  he  was  everywhere  the  ad- 
venturous were  pushing  in  the  land  of  the 
North  Woods.  He  was  the  last  man  to  take  the 
trail  from  Gabrielle  to  the  open. 

But  though  winter  lifted  a  frozen  hand  to  drive 
him  back  he  did  not  for  a  single  day  give  over 
his  search.  He  went  then  down  to  the  railroads. 
Banff  knew  him  and  came  to  know  just  as  much 
of  his  story  as  it  could  guess  from  the  eternal 


224  WOLF  BREED 

question  In  his  heart  and  now  and  then  on  his 
lips,  and  from  the  fact  that  he  had  money.  Van- 
couver knew  him,  coming  and  going  where  a  man 
might  search  such  quarry  as  his,  in  gambling  halls, 
high  and  low,  in  cafes,  at  hotels.  For  he  had  had 
a  hint  that  perhaps  Ygerne  and  the  men  with  her 
had  gone  on  to  Vancouver. 

In  January  he  drew  heavily  against  his  account 
in  the  bank  of  Lebarge.  The  money,  or  at  least 
a  great  part  of  it,  went  to  a  detective  agency  in 
Vancouver,  another  in  Victoria,  another  even  as 
far  east  as  Quebec.  Money  went  also  to  New 
Orleans  and  brought  him  no  little  information  of 
the  earlier  lives  of  Ygerne  Bellaire  and  Marc  Le- 
marc,  together  with  the  assurance  that  neither  of 
them  had  returned  to  the  South. 

Thus  he  learned  the  story  which  he  had  refused 
to  hear  from  her  own  lips,  the  reason  of  her 
flight  from  New  Orleans.  Having  no  parents 
living,  she  had  lived  in  the  household  of  her 
guardian,  a  merchant  named  Jules  Bondaine. 
She  had  had  trouble  with  Bondaine,  the  cause 
of  the  affair  not  being  clearly  understood  ex- 
cept by  Bondaine  himself,  the  girl  and,  per- 
haps. Marc  Lemarc,  her  cousin.  The  confi- 
dential agency  in  the  southern  city  to  which  Dren- 
nen  had  turned  apprised  him  of  these  facts  and 
let  him  draw  his  own  deductions :  It  was  known 
.that  Lemarc  was  a  suitor  for  the  girl's  hand ;  that 


THE  LONG  TRAIL  225 

Bondaine  had  seemed  very  strongly  to  favour  Le- 
marc;  that  Bondaine  was  high-handed,  Ygerne 
Bellaire  high-tempered;  that,  at  a  time  when 
Mme.  Bondaine  and  her  two  daughters  were  away 
from  home  over  night,  Bondaine  and  the  girl  had 
a  hot  dispute ;  that  that  night,  while  in  the  library, 
Ygerne  Bellaire  shot  her  guardian;  that  he  would 
in  all  probability  have  died  had  it  not  been  for 
the  opportune  presence  of  Marc  Lemarc,  even  the 
household  servants  being  out;  that  that  night 
Ygerne  Bellaire  left  New  Orleans  and  had  not 
been  heard  of  since  by  Bondaine  or  the  author- 
ities. 

"Appearances  would  indicate,"  ran  a  little  ini- 
tialled note  at  the  end  of  the  report,  "that  Bon- 
daine and  Lemarc  had  been  in  some  way  trying  to 
coerce  Miss  Bellaire  and  that  she  had  shot  her 
way  out  of  the  discussion.  It  is  to  be  inferred, 
however,  that  she  made  up  with  her  cousin,  as 
he  dissappeared  the  same  night  and  (merely  ru- 
moured) was  seen  with  her  upon  the  night  train 
out  of  Baton  Rouge." 

Throughout  the  winter  Drennen  pressed  the 
search  as  his  instinct  or  some  chance  hint  directed. 
No  small  part  of  his  plan  was  to  keep  in  touch 
with  the  movements  of  Lieutenant  Max  of  the 
Northwest  Mounted.  He  knew  that  the  young 
officer  was  almost  as  single  purposed  and  deter- 
mined as  himself;  he  learned  that  as  the  winter 


226  WOLF  BREED 

went  by  Max  had  met  with  no  success.  From  Max 
himself,  encountered  in  February  In  Revelstoke, 
he  learned  why  the  law  wanted  Sefton  and  Le- 
marc.  There  were  in  all  five  complaints  lodged 
against  them,  four  of  them  being  the  same  thing, 
namely,  the  obtaining  of  large  sums  of  money  un- 
der false  pretences.  The  fourth  of  these  com- 
plaints had  been  lodged  by  no  less  a  person  than 
big  Kootanie  George. 

*'They  came  to  George  with  a  cock  and  bull 
story  about  buried  treasure,"  grunted  Max.  "A 
gag  as  old  as  the  moon  and  as  easy  to  see  on  a 
clear  night  I  It^s  rather  strange,"  and  he  set  his 
keen  eyes  searchlngly  upon  Drennen's  impassive 
face,  *'that  they  didn't  take  a  chance  on  you." 

"I'm  called  Lucky  Drennen  nowadays,"  an- 
swered Drennen  coolly.  *'Maybe  my  luck  was 
just  beginning  then." 

The  fifth  charge  lay  against  Sefton.  He  had 
brought  an  unsavory  reputation  with  him  from 
the  States,  and  there  would  be  other  charges 
against  him  from  that  quarter.  He  had  mixed 
with  a  bad  crowd  in  Vancouver,  had  gotten  into 
a  gambling  concern,  "on  the  right  side  of  the 
table,"  and  had  "slit  his  own  pardner's  throat, 
both  figuratively  and  literally,  making  away  with 
the  boodle." 

"Ten  years  ago  they  might  have  got  away  with 
this  sort  of  thing,"  said  Max.    "It's  too  late  now. 


THE  LONG  TRAIL  227 

The  law's  come  and  come  to  stay.  Fm  going  to 
get  them,  and  I'm  going  to  do  it  before  snow  flies 
again." 

Drennen  shrugged.  Max  wouldn't  get  them  at 
all;  he,  David  Drennen,  was  going  to  see  to  that. 
This  was  just  a  part  of  Max's  duty;  it  was  the 
supreme  desire  of  Drennen's  life. 

Although,  during  the  cold,  white  months,  Dren- 
nen was  much  back  and  forth  along  the  railroad, 
he  avoided  Fort  Wayland  which  was  now  the 
headquarters  of  the  western  division  of  the 
Northwestern  Mining  Company.  Since  the  late 
spring  day  when  he  had  left  Lebarge  to  return 
to  MacLeod's  Settlement,  he  had  not  seen  Mar- 
shall Sothern.  Once,  in  the  late  autumn,  he  had 
found  a  letter  from  Sothern  waiting  for  him  at 
the  bank  In  Lebarge.  He  left  a  brief  answer  to 
be  forwarded,  saying  simply: 

"I  want  to  see  you,  but  not  now.  After  I  hare  finished 
the  work  which  I  have  to  do,  perhaps  when  next  spring 
comes,  we  can  take  our  hunting  trip." 

When  the  spring  came  It  brought  Drennen  with 
It  Into  the  North  Woods.  He  knew  that  the 
three  whom  he  sought,  the  four  counting  Garcia 
whom  he  had  not  forgotten,  might  have  slipped 
down  across  the  border  and  Into  the  States.  But 
he  did  not  believe  that  they  had  done  so.     The 


228  WOLF  BREED 

law  was  looking  for  them  there,  too,  and  they 
would  stay  here  until  the  law  had  had  time  to 
forget  them  a  little. 

Again  came  long,  monotonous  months  of  seek- 
ing which  were  to  end  as  they  had  begun.  He 
pushed  further  north  than  he  had  been  before,  tak- 
ing long  trails  stubbornly,  his  muscles  grown  like 
Iron  as  he  drove  them  to  new  tasks.  He  skirted 
the  Bad  Water  country,  made  his  way  through 
Ste.  Marie,  St.  Stephen,  Bois  du  Lac,  Haut 
Verre,  Louise  la  Relne,  and  dipped  into  the  un- 
known region  of  Sasnokee-keewan.  He  caught 
a  false  rumour  and  turned  back,  threading  the 
Forest  d'Enfer,  coming  again  through  Bois  du 
Lac  and  into  Sasnokee-keewan  late  in  August. 
Dissappointment  again,  and  again  he  turned 
toward  the  Nine  Lakes.  At  Belle  Fortune,  the 
first  stop,  the  last  village  he  would  see  for  many 
days,  he  met  Marshall  Sothern. 

Sothern  was  standing  in  front  of  the  village  Inn, 
his  hand  upon  the  lead-rope  of  a  sturdy  pack  mule. 
The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  intently,  Dren- 
nen  showing  no  surprise,  Sothern  experiencing 
none.  It  was  the  older  man  who  first  put  out  his 
hand. 

^Tve  been  looking  for  you,  Dave,"  he  said 
quietly.  'Tm  taking  my  vacation,  the  first  In 
seven  years.  I've  followed  you  from  the  rail- 
road. WeVe  going  to  take  our  trip  together  now.*' 


THE  LONG  TRAIL  229 

Drennen  nodded. 

*'rm  glad  to  see  you,  sir,"  he  answered  quietly. 

*'Which  way  are  you  headed  now?"  asked 
Sothern. 

**It  doesn^t  matter.  I  am  in  no  hurry.  I  was 
going  towad  the  Nine  Lakes,  but  .  .  ." 

"You  think  that  they  have  gone  that  way?" 

Again  Drennen  nodded;  again  he  failed  to 
manifest  any  surprise. 

*'I  am  not  sure,"  he  said.  "But  the  only  way 
to  be  sure  Is  to  go  and  find  out." 

So  together  father  and  son  packed  out  of  Belle 
Fortune,  headed  toward  the  Nine  Lakes  in  the 
heart  of  the  unknown  land  of  Sasnokee-keewan. 
Unknown  because  It  Is  a  land  of  short  summers 
and  long,  hard  winters;  because  no  man  had  ever 
found  the  precious  metals  here;  because  there  is 
little  game  such  as  trappers  venture  Into  the  far 
out  places  to  get;  because  It  is  broken,  rough,  in- 
hospitable. But,  for  a  thousandth  time,  a  vague 
rumour  had  come  to  Drennen  that  those  whom 
he  sought  had  pushed  on  here  ahead  of  him 
and  methodically  he  was  running  down  each 
rumour. 

Perhaps  not  a  hundred  men  In  a  hundred  years 
had  come  here  before  them.  The  forests,  tall  and 
black  and  filled  with  gloom,  were  about  them 
everywhere.  Their  trail  they  made,  and  there 
were  days  when  from  sunrise  to  sunset  they  did 


230  WOLF  BREED 

not  progress  five  miles.  Their  two  pack  animals 
found  insecure  footing;  death  awaited  them 
hourly  upon  many  a  day  at  the  bottom  of  some 
sheer  walled  cliff.  They  climbed  with  the  sharp 
slopes  on  the  mountains,  they  dropped  down  into 
the  narrow,  flinty  cafions,  they  heard  only  the 
swish  of  tree  tops  and  the  quarrelling  of  streams 
lost  to  their  eyes  in  the  depths  below  them.  And 
they  came  in  two  weeks  to  Blue  Lake  having  seen 
no  other  man  or  other  trail  than  their  own. 

They  were  silent  days.  Neither  man  asked  a 
question  of  the  other  and  neither  referred  to  what 
lay  deepest  in  his  own  breast.  There  was  sym- 
pathy between  them,  and  it  grew  stronger  day  by 
day,  but  it  was  a  sympathy  akin  to  that  of  the  soli- 
tudes, none  the  less  eloquent  because  it  was  word- 
less. Sothern  informed  Drennen  once,  out  of  the 
customary  silence  about  the  evening  camp  fire, 
that  he  was  taking  an  indefinite  vacation;  that 
there  was  a  man  in  his  place  with  the  Northwest- 
ern who  was  amply  qualified  to  remain  there  per- 
manently if  Sothern  did  not  come  back  at  all. 

They  sought  to  water  at  Blue  Lake,  so  little 
known  then  and  now  already  one  of  the  curiosi- 
ties of  the  North  and  found  its  waters  both  luke 
warm  and  salty.  Although  the  lake  is  less  than  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  long  they  were  two  hours  in 
reaching  the  head.  The  mountains  come  down 
steeply    on    all    sides,    the    timber    stands   thick, 


THE  LONG  TRAIL  231 

boulders  are  scattered  everywhere,  and  it  was 
already  dark. 

This  is  the  first  of  the  Nine  Lakes  when  one 
approaches  from  the  south.  Less  than  a  hun- 
dred yards  further  north,  its  surface  a  third  of 
that  distance  above  the  level  of  Blue  Lake,  is  Lake 
Wachong.  It  has  no  visible  connection  with  Blue 
Lake  except  when,  with  the  heavy  spring  thaw, 
there  is  a  thin  trickle  of  water  down  the  boulders. 
Here  they  camped  for  the  night. 

"We  would  have  seen  a  trail  if  they  had  gone 
ahead  of  us  this  year,  Dave,"  Sothern  remarked, 
referring  for  the  first  time  in  many  days  to  the 
matter  which  was  always  in  Drennen's  mind. 

"There's  another  way  In,"  Drennen  told  him. 
"They'd  have  gone  that  way.  It's  north  of  here 
and  easier.  But  we  save  forty  or  fifty  miles  this 
way." 

There  had  been  a  recent  discovery  of  gold  at 
a  little  place  called  Ruminoff  Shanty,  newly  named 
Gold  River.  This,  lying  still  eighty  miles  to  the 
north,  was  Drennen's  objective  point.  The  old 
rumour  had  come  to  him  a  shade  more  definite  this 
time.  In  the  crowd  pushing  northward  had  been 
three  men  and  a  woman,  one  of  the  men  looked 
like  a  Mexican  and  the  woman  was  young  and  of 
rare  beauty.  But  that  had  not  been  all.  A  man 
named  Kootanie  George  with  another  man  wear- 
ing the  uniform  of  the  Royal  Northwest  Mounted 


232  WOLF  BREED 

had  fallowed  them.  These  had  all  gone  by  the 
beaten  trail;  Drennen  saw  that  if  he  came  before 
Kootanie  George  and  Max  to  the  four  he  sought 
he  must  take  his  chances  with  the  short  cut. 

The  next  night  they  camped  at  the  upper  end 
of  the  fourth  of  the  string  of  little  lakes.  And 
that  evening  they  saw,  far  off  to  the  westward,  the 
faint  hint  of  smoke  against  the  early  stars,  the  up- 
flying  sparks,  which  spoke  of  another  campfire 
upon  the  crest  of  the  ridge. 

The  old  man  bent  his  penetrating  gaze  upon 
his  son.    Drennen's  face,  as  usual,  was  impassive. 

"My  boy,"  said  Sothern  very  gently,  "you  are 
sure  that  you  have  made  no  mistake?  The  girl 
is  no  better  than  her  companions?" 

"They  merely  kill  a  man  for  his  gold,"  re- 
turned Drennen  steadily.  "She  plays  with  a  man's 
soul  and  kills  it  when  she  has  done." 

There  were  deep  lines  of  sadness  about 
Sothern's  mouth;  the  eyes  which  forsook 
Drennen's  face  and  turned  to  the  glitter  of  the 
stars  were  unutterably  sad. 

"The  sins  of  the  father  .  .  ."  he  muttered. 
Then  suddenly,  an  electric  change  in  the  man,  he 
flung  himself  to  his  feet,  his  hands  thrown  out 
toward  his  son. 

"By  God!  Dave,"  he  cried  harshly;  "they're 
not  worth  it  I  Let  them  go  I  We  can  turn  off  here 
where  the  world  is  good  because  men  haven't 


THE  LONG  TRAIL  233 

come  into  it.  The  mountains  can  draw  the  poison 
out  of  a  man's  heart,  Dave.  There  Is  room  for 
the  two  of  us,  boy,  for  you  and  me  on  a  trail  of 
our  own.  Leave  them  for  Max  and  Kootanle 
George.  .  .  .  Come  with  me.  Do  you  hear  me, 
Dave,  boy?  We  don't  need  the  world  now  we've 
.  .  .  we've  got  each  other!" 

Drennen  shook  his  head. 

"I've  got  my  work  to  do,"  he  said  quietly.  "I 
think  it'll  be  done  soon  now.  And  then  .  .  .  then 
we'll  go  away  together,  Dad.  Just  the  two  of 
us.'» 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   FIRES   WHICH    PURIFY 

THE  camp  fire  which  the  two  men  had  seen 
had  not  been  that  of  Ygerne  and  her  com- 
panions. Upon  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day 
Drennen  and  Sothern,  still  working  northward 
along  the  chain  of  lakes,  came  to  unmistakable 
signs  of  a  fresh  trail,  made  by  two  men,  turning 
in  from  the  westward.  In  the  wet  sand  of  a  rivu- 
let were  the  tracks.  One  was  of  an  unusually 
large  boot,  the  other  of  a  smaller  boot  with  a 
higher  heel  that  had  sunk  deep. 

"Kootanie  George  and  Lieutenant  Max,  I 
think,"  announced  Drennen.  ''It's  a  fair  bet, 
since  they're  both  somewhere  in  the  neighbour- 
hood and  may  well  enough  be  travelling  together. 
They've  gone  on  ahead.  .  .  ." 

They  travelled  late  that  afternoon,  Drennen 
setting  a  hard  pace,  seemingly  forgetful  of  the 
man  who  followed.  Drennen's  eyes  had  grown 
bright  as  with  fever;  for  the  first  time  he  showed 
a  hint  of  excitement  through  the  stern  mask  of  his 
face.  He  felt  strangely  assured  that  he  had  come 
234 


THE  FIRES  WHICH  PURIFY      235 

close  to  the  end  of  a  long  trail.  But  that  was  not 
the  thought  which  caused  his  excitement.  It  was 
the  fear  that  perhaps  Kootanie  George  and  Max 
might  first  come  up  with  the  quarry. 

Signs  of  fatigue  showed  upon  Marshall  Sothem 
an  hour  before  they  made  camp.  Drennen  sought 
and  failed  to  hide  the  restlessness  upon  him.  The 
next  morning,  a  full  hour  before  the  customary 
ime  for  making  the  start  for  the  day,  Drennen  had 
thrown  the  half  diamond  hitch  which  bespoke 
readiness.  They  reached  Lake  Nopong  before 
noon  and  all  day  fought  their  way  northward 
along  its  shore.  Before  night  came  they  had 
heard  a  rifle  shot  perhaps  a  mile  further  on.  A 
rifle  shot  might  mean  anything.  No  doubt  it 
merely  told  of  a  shot  at  a  chance  deer.  But 
Drennen's  anxiety,  already  marked,  grew  greater. 

Drennen  left  their  camp  fire  when  they  had 
made  their  evening  meal  and  climbed  the  little 
cliffs  standing  at  the  skirt  of  the  strip  of  valley 
land  east  of  Lake  Nopong.  Half  an  hour  later 
he  came  back.  Sothern,  removing  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth,  looked  up  expectantly. 

"I  think  I  can  make  out  their  camp  fire,'* 
Drennen  said,  speaking  slowly.  '*I  imagine  an 
hour  would  bring  us  up  with  them." 

Sothern  knocked  out  his  pipe  and  got  to  his 
feet.  Tightening  the  pack  upon  his  mule*s  back 
he   removed  the   rifle  which  had  always  ridden 


236  WOLF  BREED 

there  and  carried  it  in  his  hand.  Drennen's  own 
rifle  remained  on  his  pack;  he  did  not  seem  to 
have  noticed  Sothern's  act. 

Two  hours  later,  sending  before  them  an  an- 
nouncement of  their  approach  in  a  rattle  of  loose 
stones  down  a  steep  trail,  they  came  up  with  the 
two  men  whom  they  had  followed  these  last  few 
days.  They  were  Lieutenant  Max  and  the  big 
Canadian  and  the  two  were  not  alone.  Drennen, 
walking  a  little  ahead  of  his  father,  came  to  a 
dead  halt,  his  body  grown  suddenly  rigid.  He 
had  seen  that  there  was  a  second  camp  fire,  a 
tiny  blaze  of  dry  fagots  not  twenty  steps  from 
the  first  but  partially  screened  by  the  undergrowth 
among  the  trees,  and  that  the  slender  form  of 
a  woman  bent  over  it.  His  pause  was  only  mo- 
mentary; when  he  came  on  his  face  gave  no  sign 
of  the  emotion  that  had  been  riding  him  nor 
of  the  old  disappointment  again  as  he  saw  that 
the  woman  was  not  Ygernebut  Ernestine  Dumont. 

Lieutenant  Max,  a  rifle  across  the  hollow  of  his 
arm,  stepped  out  to  meet  them.  Not  knowing 
who  his  guests  were  he  moved  so  that  the  fireligl^t 
was  no  longer  just  behind  him,  so  that  he  was  in 
the  shadows.  Kootanie  George,  upon  his  knees, 
holding  a  bit  of  fresh  meat  out  over  the  fire  upon 
a  green,  sharpened  stick,  turned  his  head  but  did 
not  move  his  great  body. 
^     "Who  is  it?"  demanded  Max  sharply.     And 


THE  FIRES  WHICH  PURIFY      237 

then,  before  an  answer  had  come,  he  saw  who  they 
were  and  cried  out :  "Why,  it's  David  Drennen  I 
And  Mr.  SothernI  Gad,  I  never  thought  to  see 
you  two  here  I'* 

He  came  forward  and  shook  hands  warmly, 
showing  an  especial  pleasure  in  meeting  Marshall 
Sothern  again.  The  eyes  of  both  men  kindled  as 
they  gripped  hands,  in  Sothern's  a  look  of  affec- 
tion, in  Max's  an  expression  compounded  of  liking 
and  respect. 

Max  had  finished  his  meal;  George,  his  ap- 
petite in  keeping  with  his  size,  was  doing  his  last 
bit  of  cooking;  Ernestine,  bending  over  her  own 
lonely  blaze,  was  seeking  to  warm  a  body  which 
the  fresh  evening  had  chilled,  a  body  which  looked 
thinner  and  withal  more  girlish  than  it  had  looked 
for  many  a  day.  The  face  which  she  turned  to- 
ward the  new  arrivals  with  faint  curiosity,  was 
paler  than  it  had  been  of  yore;  her  eyes  seemed 
larger;  there  were  traces  of  suffering  which  she 
had  not  sought  to  hide. 

Lieutenant  Max  was  unmistakably  glad  to  wel- 
come Drennen  and  Sothern  to  camp.  The  at- 
mosphere hovering  about  the  trio  upon  whom 
father  and  son  had  come  was  not  to  be  mistaken 
even  in  the  half  gloom.  There  was  nothing  in 
common  between  the  officer  and  the  big  Canadian 
beyond  their  present  community  of  interest  in 
coming    up    with    the    fugitives    whom    the    law 


238  WOLF  BREED 

sought  through  Max  and  revenge  quested  through 
Kootanie.  And  Ernestine,  though  with  them,  was 
distinctly  not  of  them.  She  was  pitifully  aloof, 
the  broad  expanse  of  George's  back  turned  to- 
ward her  fire  speaking  eloquently. 

"You  are  on  a  hunting  trip,  I  take  it?"  offered 
Max  as  they  sat  down,  each  man  having  brought 
out  and  lighted  his  pipe.  "Just  pleasure  of 
course?  There's  no  gold  In  here,  you  know,"  he 
ended  .with  a  laugh. 

Sothern  turned  his  eyes  toward  Drennen  and 
brought  them  back  to  the  fire  without  answering. 
Max's  eyes  upon  him  Drennen  spoke  simply. 

"A  hunting  trip,  yes.  Hunting  the  same  game 
you  are  after." 

Ernestine  looked  up  quickly,  her  hands  clench- 
ing spasmodically.  George  turned  his  meat,  spat 
into  the  coals,  and  sought  for  salt. 

"Mr.  Drennen,"  said  the  lieutenant  coldly,  "it's 
just  as  well  to  understand  each  other  right  now. 
I  represent  the  law  here;  the  law  at  so  early  a 
stage  as  this  considers  no  personal  equation.  A 
private  quarrel  must  stand  aside.  I  know  what 
you  mean;  you  know  what  I  mean." 

"Lieutenant,"  answered  Drennen  gravely,  "the 
law  is  not  yet  full  grown  in  the  North  Woods. 
Here  a  man  steps  aside  for  nothing.  Yes,  as 
you  say,  I  think  we  understand  each  other." 

"By  God  I"  cried  Max  angrily,  "I  know  what 


THE  FIRES  WHICH  PURIFY      239 

is  in  your  heart,  yours  and  George's  here  I  It's 
murder;  that's  the  name  for  it!  And  I  tell  you 
that  you  are  going  to  keep  your  hands  off  I  When 
we  find  these  people  they  are  my  prisoners,  it's 
my  sworn  duty  to  lead  them  back  to  a  place  where 
they  can  stand  trial,  and  I  am  going  to  take  them. 
Remember  that." 

Drennen,  having  spoken  all  that  he  could  have 
said  if  he  talked  all  night  long,  made  no  answer. 
Ernestine,  her  two  hands  at  her  breast,  crouched 
rocking  back  and  forth,  in  a  sort  of  silent  agony. 
George,  eating  swiftly  and  noisily,  did  not  look 
up. 

In  an  instant  the  old  atmosphere  which  had 
hovered  over  the  camp  came  back,  electrically 
charged  with  distrust,  constraint,  aloofness. 
Sothern's  heavy  brows  were  drawn  low,  the  fire- 
light showing  deep,  black  shadows  in  the  fur- 
rows of  his  forehead.  In  a  moment  he  got  to  his 
feet  and  went  to  where  Ernestine  sat,  his  hat  in 
his  hand,  kind  words  of  greeting  upon  his  lips  for 
a  lonely  woman.  She  grew  suddenly  sullen;  in 
a  moment  the  sullen  mood  melted  in  a  burst  of 
tears,  and  she  was  talking  with  him  incoherently. 

George  and  Drennen  had  not  met  to  speak  since 
that  night,  long  ago,  when  they  had  diced  and 
fought  at  Pere  Marquette's.  Now  neither  gave 
the  least  sign  that  he  had  seen  the  other. 


240  WOLF  BREED 

When  one,  life  ended,  goes  down  into  the  grave 
that  grass  may  grow  above  him  and  men  walk 
over  his  quiet  body,  are  the  doors  of  his  hell 
swinging  open  that  he  may  enter,  or  are  they 
softly  closing  behind  him?  Are  the  fires  of  hell 
venomous  tongues  that  bite  deep  to  punish  with 
their  torture  when  it  is  too  late?  or  are  they 
flames  which  cleanse  and  chasten  while  there  is 
yet  time?  Ernestine  Dumont,  like  many  another, 
had  lighted  the  fires  with  her  own  hands,  seeing 
and  understanding  what  it  was  that  she  did.  For 
close  to  two  years  she  had  walked  through  the 
flames  of  her  own  kindling.  And  now,  not  wait- 
ing for  the  tardy  retribution  which  comes  all  too 
late,  she  was  already  passing  through  the  burning 
fires ;  she  was  closer  than  she  knew  to  having  the 
iron  portals  clang  behind  her,  gently  and  forever. 
After  labour  comes  rest;  after  suffering,  peace. 

Drennen  had  said,  "There  is  no  law  here  in  the 
North  Woods  that  a  man  may  not  push  aside." 
He  was  thinking  of  such  law  as  Lieutenant  Max 
represented.  Had  he  looked  into  his  own  heart; 
could  he  have  looked  into  the  hearts  of  Marshall 
Sothern,  Ernestine  Dumont,  Kootanie  George, 
even  into  the  heart  of  Lieutenant  Max,  he  would 
have  known  that  his  seeming  truth  was  an  obvious 
lie.  There  is  another  law  which  reaches  even  into 
the  lawless  North  Woods  and  which  says, 
^'Transgress  against  me  and  not  another  but  your- 


THE  FIRES  WHICH  PURIFY      241 

self  shall  shape  your  punishment."  Had  he 
looked  into  the  hearts  of  Ygeme  Bellaire,  of 
Sefton  and  Lemarc  and  Garcia,  he  would  have  be- 
held the  same  truth.  He  might  have  looked  Into 
the  hearts  of  good  men  and  bad  and  have  found 
the  same  truth.  For  soon  or  late  each  man,  be 
he  walking  as  straight  In  the  light  as  he  knows 
how,  be  he  crouching  as  low  In  the  shadows  as 
he  may,  Ignites  the  sulphur  and  tinder  of  his  own 
hell.  The  hell  may  be  little  or  it  may  be  a  confla- 
gration; it  may  flicker  and  die  out  or  it  may  burn 
through  life  and  lick  luridly  at  the  skies;  but  a 
man  must  light  it  and  walk  through  It,  since  he  is 
but  man,  and  that  he  may  be  a  man. 

If  Ernestine  Dumont's  body  had  appeared  to 
grow  wan  and  slender,  her  soul,  long  stifled,  had 
found  nourishment  and  had  expanded.  Under  a 
sympathy  emanating  gently  from  Sothern  she 
grew  calm  and  spoke  with  him  as  she  had  not 
known  she  could  speak.  She  was  not  the  woman 
she  had  been  two  years  ago,  and  yet  no  miracle 
had  been  wrought.  She  had  sinned  but  she  had 
suffered.  The  suffering  had  chastened  her.  A 
rebellious  spirit  always,  she  had  become  softened 
with  a  meekness  which  was  not  weakness  but  the 
dawning  of  understanding.  She  had  struggled, 
she  had  known  fatigue  after  violence  and  the  God 
who  had  made  the  Law  had  ordained  that  after 
fatigue  should  come  rest. 


242  WOLF  BREED 

There  was  much  she  did  not  say  which  Soth- 
ern,  having  trod  his  own  burning  path,  could  di- 
vine. 

She  had  offered  to  David  Drennen  a  fierce  pas- 
sion which  he  neither  could  nor  would  accept.  The 
hot  breath  of  it  had  shaken  her  being,  seared 
through  her  breast,  blinded  her  eyes.  She  had 
flung  herself  upon  Kootanie  George,  still  seeing 
only  Drennen  through  the  blur  of  her  passion; 
she  had  awakened  love  in  Kootanie  George,  the 
strong  love  of  a  strong  man,  and  she  had  not  so 
much  as  seen  it. 

She  had  humiliated  the  Canadian  before  men. 
Had  she  fired  the  shot  because  she  loved  him  he 
would  have  been  proud  instead  of  ashamed.  But 
he  had  known  that  she  had  fired  only  because  she 
wanted  to  hate  David  Drennen. 

Seeing  dimly  what  she  had  lost  only  when  it 
was  gone  from  her  she  had  sought  to  bring  it  back 
by  throwing  herself  at  another  man.  Garcia  had 
made  light  love  to  her  beautifully  after  the  ex- 
quisite manner  of  his  kind,  and  had  gone  away 
when  Ygerne  had  gone,  with  laughter  in  his  gay 
heart  and  his  song  upon  his  lips  for  the  woman 
who  had  taken  Drennen's  love.  George  had  seen, 
had  understood  and  his  heart  had  grown  still 
harder. 

But  now,  at  last,  Ernestine  knew  to  the  full 
what  she  had  been  offered  and  had  thrust  aside. 


THE  FIRES  WHICH  PURIFY      243 

She  had  come  to  see  in  Kootanie  George  the 
qualities  of  which  a  woman  like  her  could  be  proud 
She  had  come  to  feel  a  strange  sort  of  awe  that 
George,  who  was  no  woman's  man  but  always  a 
man's  man,  had  loved  her.  And  it  had  been  given 
to  her  at  last  to  know  that  her  passion  for  David 
Drennen  had  been  as  the  passion  of  the  moth  for 
the  candle.  A  new  love  came  into  her  heart,  ris- 
ing to  her  throat,  choking  her;  a  love  that  was 
meek  and  devoted,  that  was  now  as  much  a  part  of 
her  as  were  her  hands  and  feet;  an  emotion  that 
was  the  most  unselfish,  the  most  worthy  and  wom- 
anly she  had  ever  felt.  She  had  followed  Koo- 
tanie George;  she  had  at  last  come  up  with  him; 
and  now,  George's  back  to  her,  she  sat  at  her  own 
little  fire. 

"Life  is  hard  for  us.  Miss  Dumont."  Sothern 
laid  his  hand  very  gently  upon  her  shoulder  and 
smiled  into  her  face.  "But,  I  think  ...  at  the 
end  .  .  .  life  is  good." 

"I  have  done  everything  wrong,"  she  said 
slowly.  "I  have  never  had  anything  in  life  worth 
while  .  .  .  but  George's  love.  And  I  threw  that 
away." 

"When  a  man  has  loved  once  he  loves  always," 
Sothern  told  her  quietly.  "And  a  thing  like  that 
you  can't  throw  away." 

Presently,  from  deep  thoughtfulness,  she  said 
hesitantly: 


244  WOLF  BREED 

*'I  want  to  talk  to  Mr.  Drennen.  There  is 
something  I  must  say  to  him." 

**Let  it  wait  a  day  or  so,"  Sothern  answered. 
"He  is  not  himself  right  now.  And  George  might 
misunderstand." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

CHANCE  HEARD  IN  THE  NIGHT 

BEFORE  sunrise  the  five  beings  whose  lives 
were  so  intimately  intertwined  and  yet  who 
were  held  by  constraint  one  from  the  other,  took 
up  the  trail.  There  was  but  one  way  to  go  and 
this  fact  alone  held  them  together ;  they  must  keep 
close  to  the  lake  shore  for  upon  the  right  the 
mountains  swept  upward  in  a  series  of  cliffs  and 
into  a  frowning  barrier.  Marshall  Sothern  and 
Ernestine,  walking  together  in  the  rear,  spoke  lit- 
tle as  the  day  wore  on.  Max,  Drennen  and  Koot- 
anie  George,  ahead,  spoke  not  at  all.  In  silence, 
never  the  elbow  of  one  touching  the  coat  of  an- 
other, the  three  men  felt  and  manifested  the  jeal- 
ous rivalry  which  all  day  fought  to  place  each  one 
ahead  of  the  others.  George,  fleeced  as  Drennen 
had  been  and  at  a  time  when  the  Canadian's  soul 
had  listened  avidly  to  the  voice  of  his  wrath,  em- 
bittered as  Drennen  was  by  the  act  of  a  woman, 
was  scarcely  less  eager  to  be  first  than  Drennen 
himself.  And  Max,  reading  the  signs,  grew 
watchful  as  his  own  eagerness  mounted. 

Before  night  they  found  the  trail  which  Dren- 
245 


246  WOLF  BREED 

nen  knew  that,  soon  or  late,  he  would  come  upon. 
Here,  perhaps  a  week  ago,  certainly  not  more 
than  ten  days  ago,  two  or  three  men  and  one 
woman  had  passed.  They  had  had  with  them  two 
or  three  pack  animals  and  the  trail,  coming  in 
abruptly  from  a  canon  at  the  westward,  was 
plain. 

At  nightfall  they  were  at  the  foot  of  the  sixth 
of  the  nine  lakes,  the  broad  trail  running  on 
straight  along  its  marge.  The  fathomless,  bluish 
water,  looking  in  the  dusk  a  mere  rudely  circular 
mirror  which  was  in  truth  a  liquid  cone  whose  tip 
was  hidden  deep  in -the  bowels  of  earth,  lay  in  still 
serenity  before  them.  On  all  sides  the  cliffs, 
sheer  falls  half  a  thousand,  sometimes  quite  a 
thousand  feet  high,  seemed  actually  to  stoop  their 
august,  beetling  brows  forward  that  they  might 
frown  down  upon  their  own  unbroken  reflections. 
There  would  be  a  pass  through  the  mountains  at 
the  northern  end  of  the  lake,  a  deeply  cleft  gorge, 
maybe,  but  from  here,  with  the  first  dimness  of 
the  new  night  upon  everything,  there  seemed  no 
way  through. 

Each  man,  the  silent  meal  done,  threw  his  bed 
where  he  saw  fit,  apart  from  the  others.  Sothern, 
having  aided  Ernestine,  telling  her  good  night 
and  receiving  a  wan  smile  of  gratitude,  went  back 
to  the  fire  where  Max  was  brooding.  The  lieu- 
tenant looked  up,  glad  of  the  companionship.  The 


CHANCE  HEARD  IN  THE  NIGHT      247 

two  men  from  silence  grew  to  talk  in  low  voices. 
Max  had  something  he  wanted  to  say  and  the 
opportunity  for  saying  it  seemed  to  have  come. 
He  looked  about  him,  saw  Drennen's  form  and 
George's  through  the  trees,  saw  where  Ernestine 
was  stamping  out  the  glowing  embers  of  her  fire, 
and  began  to  speak.  Something  else  he  saw  and 
forgot,  its  being  of  no  importance  to  his  brain. 
It  was  merely  the  pipe  which  Drennen  had  laid 
upon  a  stone  near  the  camp  fire  and  had  left  there 
when  he  had  gone  away. 

But  Drennen,  being  in  no  mood  for  sleep, 
missed  his  pipe.  Coming  back  toward  the  fire  a 
little  later  it  happened  that  he  approached  behind 
the  two  men's  backs  and  in  the  thick  shadows.  It 
happened,  too,  that  they  were  very  deep  in  their 
own  thoughts  and  conversation  and  that  they  did 
not  hear  him  until  he  had  caught  a  part  of  their 
talk.  After  that  Drennen,  grown  as  still  as  the 
rocks  about  him,  listened  and  made  no  sound.  He 
had  caught  the  words  from  Max: 

"...  a  man  named  Drennen;  an  embezzler. 
Not  a  common  name,  is  it?  I've  a  notion  that 
this  David  Drennen  is  the  son  of  that  John 
Harper  Drennen.'* 

Drennen,  listening,  got  nothing  from  this,  but 
stood  still,  frowning  and  wondering.  His  eyes, 
upon  Max*s  face  outlined  by  the  fire,  took  no 
note  of  Sothem's. 


248  WOLF  BREED 

"WeVe  got  the  report,"  went  on  Max  thought- 
fully, "that  the  other  Drennen,  John  Harper 
Drennen,  is  somewhere  in  this  country.  Lord," 
and  he  laughed  softly,  *'it  would  be  some  white 
feather  in  my  cap  if  I  could  bring  the  old  fox  in, 
wouldn't  it,  Mr.  Sothern?  He's  given  the  police 
the  slip  for  a  dozen  years.'* 

Now,  Drennen,  with  a  quick  start  of  full  under- 
standing, looked  anxiously  at  the  old  man. 
Sothern's  face  stood  in  clear  relief  against  the 
fire.  There  came  no  change  into  it;  he  looked 
gravely  at  Max,  drew  a  moment  contemplatively 
at  his  pipe,  and  then  in  a  voice  grave  and  steady 
answered : 

*'John  Harper  Drennen.  ...  I  remember  the 
name.  The  papers  were  full  of  it.  But  wasn't  he 
reported  to  have  died  a  long  time  ago?" 

"A  dodge  as  old  as  the  hills,"  grunted  Max. 
"And  God  knows  it  works  often  enough,  at  that. 
No,  he  Isn't  dead  and  he  is  somewhere  in  this 
corner  of  the  Dominion.  By  Heaven !"  his  young 
voice  rising  with  the  ambition  in  it,  "if  it's  in 
my  run  of  luck  to  bring  him  in  I'll  go  up  for 
promotion  In  two  days  I  And  I'm  going  to  get 
him  I" 

Sothern's  smile,  a  little  tense,  seemed  only 
the  smile  of  age  upon  the  vaunting  ambition  of 
youth. 

"I  am  not  the  man  to  doubt  your  ability  to  do 


CHANCE  HEARD  IN  THE  NIGHT      249 

pretty  nearly  anything  you  set  your  mind  and  hand 
to,  Max,"  he  said  after  a  little.  And  then,  **Isn't 
it  a  little  strange  that  after  all  these  years  in- 
terest in  John  Harper  Drennen  should  awake?" 

"Not  so  strange,"  replied  Max.  "The  odd 
thing,  perhaps,  is  that  David  Drennen,  the  son, 
and  the  sort  of  man  he  seems  to  be,  should  have 
paid  off  his  father's  obligation  of  forty  thousand 
dollars  just  as  soon  as  he  sold  the  Golden  Girl  to 
you  people." 

Sothern,  offering  no  remark,  looked  merely 
casually  interested.     Max  went  on. 

"That's  the  first  thing  which  began  to  stimulate 
dormant  interest,"  he  said.  "Queer,  isn't  it,  that 
the  most  honest  and  unselfish  and  altogether 
praiseworthy  thing  he  has  ever  been  known  to 
do  should  succeed  chiefly  in  drawing  attention  to 
his  father,  so  long  thought  dead?  We've  had 
our  eyes  on  him  for  pretty  close  to  a  year  now. 
I'm  up  a  tree  to  know  whether  he  knows  his  father 
is  living,  even." 

"That's  not  all  of  the  evidence  you've  got  that 
John  Harper  Drennen  is  alive,  is  it?"  Sothern's 
voice  asked  quietly. 

"Lord,  no.  That's  not  evidence  at  all.  In 
fact,  there  isn't  any  evidence;  there's  just  a  tip. 
There  came  a  letter  to  the  Chief  in  Montreal.  I 
got  a  copy  of  it.  It  said  merely:  *John  Harper 
Drennen,  wanted  for  embezzlement  in  New  York, 


250  WOLF  BREED 

is  in  hiding  in  the  North  Woods  country.  He 
is  the  father  of  David  Drennen  of  MacLeod's 
Settlement.  Watch  young  Drennen  and  you'll 
find  the  thief.'  " 

When  Max  paused,  leaning  toward  the  fire  for 
a  burning  splinter  of  wood  for  his  pipe,  Sothern 
passed  his  hand  swiftly  across  his  eyes.  As  Max 
straightened  up  the  old  man  said: 

"The  letter  might  have  said  more.  It  doesn't 
give  you  a  great  deal  to  work  upon." 

Max  laughed. 

"But  it  does.  The  letter  wasn't  signed,  even, 
and  was  typewritten,  so  you'd  say  it  wasn't  worth 
reading  twice.  And  yet  I  know  right  now  who 
wrote  it." 

"Yes?" 

"Yes."  There  was  triumph  unhidden  in  Max's 
voice,  in  his  eyes  turned  full  upon  Sothern's.  "For 
I've  been  after  that  man  for  more  than  seventeen 
months,  the  man  who  has  cause  to  hate  John 
Harper  Drennen  like  poison,  the  man  who'd  like 
to  entangle  both  the  father  and  son  in  the  mesh 
of  the  law.  It's  the  man  I'm  going  to  get  at  the 
end  of  this  trail,  a  man  calling  himself  Sefton. 
And  when  I  get  him  he's  going  to  talk,  he's  going 
to  identify  John  Harper  Drennen,  and  I'm  going 
to  put  the  two  of  them  where  they'll  see  the  sun 
through  the  bars  for  more  years  than  is  pleasant 
to  look  upon!" 


CHANCE  HEARD  IN  THE  NIGHT      251 

Again  there  was  silence  and  the  calm  smoking 
of  pipes. 

**Why  do  you  tell  me  this,  Max?"  asked 
Sothern  after  a  little. 

Suddenly  Max's  hand  shot  out,  resting  upon 
Sothern's  shoulder.  Drennen  started,  his  hands 
shutting  tight,  as  he  waited  breathlessly  for  the 
words:  "John  Harper  Drennen,  you  are  my 
prisoner  I"  He  fancied  that  he  saw  Sothern's 
body  shaken  with  a  little  tremor.  The  words 
which  he  heard  at  last  in  Max's  quiet  voice  were 
these : 

"I  tell  you,  Mr.  Sothern,  because  I  come  pretty 
near  the  telling  of  everything  to  you.  Because  for 
six  years  you  have  been  more  a  father  to  me  than 
my  own  father  ever  was.  Because  everything 
that  I  am  I  owe  to  you.  You  set  my  feet  in  the 
right  path,  and  now  that  I  am  succeeding,  for  by 
God,  success  Is  coming  to  me,  I  want  you  to  know 
it  I  I  have  never  talked  to  you  of  the  things  which 
I  have  felt  most.  .  .  ."  For  a  moment  he  broke 
off;  Drennen  fancied  his  eyes  glistened  and  that 
he  had  choked  on  the  simple  words.  "You  know 
what  I  mean  .  .  .  you  don't  think  I'm  a  senti- 
mental fool,  do  you?" 

Sothern,  his  face  white  but  his  expression  show- 
ing nothing,  his  voice  grave  and  calm,  dropped 
his  own  hand  gently  upon  the  lieutenant's 
shoulder. 


252  WOLF  BREED 

"Max,  my  boy,"  he  said  simply,  "I  know 
you'll  succeed.  I've  always  known  that.  But,  old 
fellow,  I  think  you've  got  the  hardest  work  of 
your  life  ahead  of  you.  No,  I  don't  think  you 
are  a  sentimental  fool.  We  are  just  in  the  forests 
together,  and  the  solitude  and  the  starlight  up 
yonder  and  the  bigness  of  the  open  night  are 
working  their  wills  upon  us.  Just  remember  one 
thing,  Max,"  and  his  voice  grew  a  shade  sterner, 
"when  the  hard  time  comes  don't  let  your  heart- 
strings get  mixed  up  with  your  sworn  duty.  If 
you  did  I'd  be  ashamed  of  you,  not  proud,  my 
boy." 

Drennen  slipped  away  through  the  dark.  He 
came  to  his  bed  under  the  trees  and  went  on, 
walking  swiftly.  For  the  first  time  in  many  long 
months  a  new  emotion  was  upon  him,  riding  him 
hard.  He  forgot  Ygerne  for  the  moment;  forgot 
his  own  wrong  and  his  own  vengeance.  He  looked 
at  the  stars  and  they  seemed  far  away  and  dim; 
the  shadows  about  him  were  like  blackness  inten- 
sified into  tangible  things. 

When  at  last  he  came  back  to  his  bed  the  fires 
were  out;  all  the  others  had  gone  to  their  rest. 
He  fancied,  however,  that  none  of  them  slept.  He 
pictured  each  one,  his  own  father,  Kootanie 
George,  Ernestine,  Lieutenant  Max,  lying  wide 
awake,  staring  up  into  the  stars,  each  one  busy 


CHANCE  HEARD  IN  THE  NIGHT      253 

with  his  own  destiny.  What  pitiful  pictures  are 
projected  into  the  calm  of  the  star-set  skies  from 
the  wretched  turmoil  of  fevered  brains! 

*'I  must  come  to  Sefton  first !'' 

It  was  Drennen's  last  thought  that  night.  His 
first  thought  in  the  dim  dawn  was : 

*'I  must  come  to  Sefton  first  T* 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  PATH  DOWN  THE  CLIFF 

IN  the  thick  darkness  half  way  between  mid- 
night and  the  first  glimmer  of  the  new  day 
Drennen  awoke.  That  he  must  silence  Sefton 
before  Max  came  up  with  him  was  the  thought 
awaking  with  him.  He  was  fully  conscious  of 
his  purpose  before  he  knew  what  it  was  that  had 
awakened  him. 

Quite  close  to  him  was  the  noise  of  breaking 
brush  and  snapping  twigs.  Evidenly  one  of  the 
pack  animals  had  broken  its  tie-rope.  He  lifted 
himself  upon  his  elbow,  frowning  into  the  dark- 
ness. The  horse  was  not  ten  feet  from  him  and 
yet  it  was  hard  to  distinguish  that  darker  blot  in 
the  darkness  which  bespoke  the  brute's  body. 

*'What  is  it?" 

It  was  the  voice  of  Kootanie  George  from  the 
big  Canadian's  bed  some  fifty  feet  away.  It  was 
the  first  time  George  had  spoken  to  Drennen. 
Drennen  answered  quietly: 

"One  of  the  horses  has  broken  his  rope.'* 

Knowing  that  the  animal  might  wander  back 
254 


THE  PATH  DOWN  THE  CLIFF    255 

along  the  trail  and  cause  no  little  delay  in  the 
morning,  Drennen  slipped  on  his  boots  and  went 
to  tie  him.  The  horse,  seeing  where  the  man 
could  not,  drew  back  toward  the  cliffs.  Drennen, 
led  by  the  noise  of  breaking  underbrush,  at  last 
was  enabled  to  make  out  distinctly  the  looming 
form  in  a  little  clearing.  Stooping  swiftly, 
through  a  random  clutch  at  the  ground,  he  was 
lucky  enough  to  sleze  the  end  of  the  broken 
rope. 

*'It's  Black  Ben,"  he  thought.  "Max's  horse." 
A  sudden  temptation  came  to  him.  Puzzling  it 
over  he  led  the  horse  slowly  toward  the  grassy 
flat  under  the  cliffs  where  the  others  were  tethered. 
Suppose  that  he  turned  Max's  horse  loose?  And 
Kootanie's?  And  that  he  should  head  them  back 
along  the  trail?  Not  a  pretty  trick  to  play,  but 
was  now  the  time  for  nicety?  It  would  mean  de- 
lay, not  for  Drennen,  but  for  Kootanle  and  Max 
...  it  might  mean  the  opportunity  he  wanted,  to 
come  up  with  Sefton  before  the  others. 

He  passed  close  to  where  George  lay.  The  Ca- 
nadian had  again  drawn  up  his  blanket  and  was  go- 
ing back  to  sleep.  The  others  were  sleeping.  It 
was  too  dark  for  them  to  see  what  he  was  doing. 
Too  dark  for  him  to  more  than  make  out  the 
forms  of  the  other  horses  when  he  came  to  the 
flat  under  the  cliffs.  And  by  that  time  he  had 
made  up  his  mind;  he  would  take  advantage  of 


256  WOLF  BREED 

whatever  came  to  his  hand  and  ask  no  questions ; 
he  would  find  George's  pack  animal  in  a  moment 
and  would  then  lead  the  two  of  them  around  the 
camp  and  turn  them  loose. 

Had  he  come  to  George's  horse  first  he  would 
have  done  so.  But  it  chanced  that  the  first  horse 
across  whose  tether  he  tripped  was  a  big  black 
animal  with  the  white  strip  from  below  the  ears 
to  the  nostrils  showing  in  the  gloom  to  which 
Drennen's  eyes  were  accustomed  now.  This  was 
Lieutenant  Max's  horse,  Black  Ben  I  Then  the 
horse  he  was  leading  .  .  . 

He  swung  about  swiftly,  gathering  up  the  slack- 
ened rope,  coming  close  to  the  horse  what  had 
awakened  him.  It  was  like  Black  Ben,  easily  to  be 
mistaken  even  in  a  better  light  than  this  .  .  .  but 
it  was  not  George's  horse  nor  yet  Max's.  .  .  . 

"A  strange  horse,  here  I"  was  his  swift  thought. 
"Whose?" 

He  ran  his  hands  along  the  big  brute's  back. 
There  was  no  saddle.  About  the  neck  only  a 
knotted  rope.  His  hands  ran  on  to  the  dragging 
end  of  the  rope.  The  strands  were  rough  there, 
unequal,  bespeaking  a  tether  snapped.  He  noted 
now,  too,  that  the  rope  was  damp  and  a  little 
muddy. 

"He's  come  down  the  trail  from  the  north. 
We  are  close  to  Sefton's  camp." 

From  the  north  because  there  was  no  place* 


THE  PATH  DOWN  THE  CLIFF     257 

which  Drennen  remembered  having  passed  dur- 
ing the  end  of  the  day  where  a  horse  could  muddy 
a  dragging  rope.  The  lake  shore  was  sand  and 
gravel.  And,  before  he  had  gone  to  bed  that 
night,  he  had  seen  a  straggling  stream  which  a 
little  further  on  ran  across  the  morrow's  trail, 
making  shallow  ponds  in  the  grass,  the  banks  oozy 
mud. 

Tying  the  strange  horse  swiftly,  Drennen  went 
back  to  his  bed.  He  found  his  rifle  and  cartridge 
belt,  filled  his  pockets  hit  or  miss  from  his  food 
pack,  and,  making  no  noise,  returned  to  the  flat. 
Again  leading  the  strange  horse  he  pushed  on,  up 
trail,  toward  the  muddy  brook. 

Too  dark  to  see  more  than  the  lowering  mass 
of  trees,  the  blackness  of  the  ground  looking  a 
bottomless  pit  under  foot,  the  wall  of  cliffs  stand- 
ing up  against  the  stars.  But  slowly  he  could  find 
his  way  to  the  creek,  across,  and  along  the  lake 
shore. 

Again  and  again  he  stumbled  against  a  boulder 
or  tree  trunk  or  clump  of  bushes.  He  cursed  his 
eyes  for  fools,  drew  back  and  around  the  obstacle 
and  pushed  on.  He  would  make  little  speed  this 
way,  but  there  might  arise  the  situation  in  which 
every  moment  would  be  golden. 

After  a  little  an  inspiration  came  to  him  and 
he  acted  upon  it  swiftly.  He  let  the  rope  out 
through  his  fingers  and  holding  it  at  the  broken 


258  WOLF  BREED 

end  drove  the  horse  on  ahead  of  him,  calculating 
upon  the  fact  that  it  could  sec  even  if  he  could 
not,  and  having  been  over  the  trail  once  would 
travel  it  again  in  the  darkness. 

So  Drennen  made  his  way  northward.  Now  he 
was  making  better  time,  perhaps  a  couple  of  miles 
an  hour.  By  dawn  he  would  be  several  miles 
ahead  of  the  others,  and  then  he  could  travel 
more  rapidly. 

But,  before  the  dawn  came,  he  must  stop.  He 
had  come  under  the  cliffs  which  stood  tall  and 
bleakly  forbidding  at  the  upper  end  of  the  lake. 
The  horse  came  to  a  dead  standstill.  If  there 
were  a  way  up  here,  a  trail  through  the  cliffs,  the 
animal  seemed  to  have  no  knowledge  of  it  and 
Drennen's  blind  groping  could  not  discover  it. 

It  was  only  through  the  mastery  of  a  strong 
will,  long  seasoned  and  drilled,  that  Drennen 
could  force  himself  at  last  to  sit  down  and  await 
the  coming  of  the  light.  His  soul  was  in  turmoil. 
His  mind  was  filled  with  broken  fancies,  tortured 
visions.  In  him  the  simplicity  of  a  normal  exis- 
tence had  been  phantastically  twisted  into  com- 
plication. Before  him  were  Sefton  and  Lemarc 
and  Garcia  .  .  .  and  Ygerne  Bellaire.  Behind 
him  were  George  and  Ernestine  with  their  warped 
lives,  Sothern  and  Max  with  their  souls  upon  the 
verge  of  convulsion.  Max,  young  and  straight- 
forward, his  sky  clear  to  the  star  of  his  duty,  was 


THE  PATH  DOWN  THE  CLIFF     259 

sleeping  In  Ignorance,  while  if  he  but  knew  he 
would  be  torn  a  thousand  ways.  And  it  seemed 
to  Drennen  that  the  restless  thing  In  each  of  these 
lives,  behind  him  and  In  front  of  him,  raised  its 
hissing  head  to  dart  venom  into  his  own  breast, 
to  make  for  unrest  and  doubt  there. 

At  last  the  objects  about  him  were  slowly  re- 
stored to  their  own  individual  forms  from  the 
void  of  the  night.  The  trees  separated,  the  ex- 
panse of  the  lake  grew  grey  and  liquid,  the  cliffs 
showed  their  ancient  battle  scars.  And  the  trod- 
den earth  held  fresh  and  plain  the  trail  he 
sought. 

Leading  the  horse  again,  he  climbed  up  from 
the  level  of  the  lake  toward  the  cliff  tops.  The 
trail,  hazardous  enough  at  all  times,  looking  now 
and  then  impossible,  wound  and  twisted  among 
the  boulders,  snaked  its  way  into  a  narrow  gorge, 
mounted  along  a  bit  of  bench  land  clinging  like 
a  shelf  to  the  mountain  side,  and  in  an  hour's 
time  brought  him  to  the  top. 

Now  the  day  was  full  upon  him.  Behind  and 
below  lay  the  lake  he  had  just  quitted.  He  could 
make  out  a  plume  of  smoke  where  the  Impatience 
of  Max  and  George  would  be  bestirring  itself. 
Ahead  and  below  lay  Red  Deer  Lake,  a  thousand 
dizzy  feet  down,  seeming  Impossible  of  achieve- 
ment from  where  Drennen  stood.  He  pushed  a 
stone  over  the  rocks  with  his  boot.     He  saw  it 


26o  WOLF  BREED 

leap  outward  and  drop,  plummet  wise,  saw  the 
white  spray  of  the  lake  leap  upward  as  the  stone 
plunged  into  the  water. 

Drennen  had  turned  the  horse  loose.  From 
the  hog's-back  upon  which  he  stood  he  could  look 
down  into  a  little  valley  lying  to  the  eastward  and 
could  make  out  in  it  two  more  pack  animals,  teth- 
ered. He  headed  this  one  down  the  trail  and 
then  turned  his  eyes  back  toward  Red  Deer  Lake 
and,  across  it,  to  the  cliffs  beyond.  For  there  he 
had  seen  a  second  plume  of  smoke. 

It  seemed  to  him  then  that  a  man  must  have 
wings  to  reach  that  other  line  of  cliffs,  on  the  far 
side  of  the  lake,  from  which  the  smoke  was  climb- 
ing upward.  Everywhere  the  sheer  precipices 
marched  up  to  the  rim  of  the  blue  laughter  of 
the  water  below  him,  so  that  one  might  believe 
that  neither  man  nor  four-footed  denizen  of  the 
forestland  could  conie  here  to  drink;  that  only  the 
birds,  dropping  with  folded  wings,  could  visit  its 
shore.  But  others  had  been  here  before  him;  and 
surely  it  was  their  smoke  which  curled  upward 
from  the  far  cliffs.  If  they  had  found  a  way  to 
go  on  on  foot,  leaving  their  horses  here,  then  he 
could  find  it.  And  he  must  find  it  quickly  .  .  . 
before  Max  and  George. 

First  he  noted  the  location  of  the  smoke  to- 
ward which  he  sought  to  go,  so  that  he  would 
not  miss  It.     Nature  aided  him,  making  the  spot 


THE  PATH  DOWN  THE  CLIFF     261 

distinctive.  Everywhere  the  cliffs  were  barren, 
just  rock  and  more  rock,  a  jumble  of  great  boul- 
ders strewn  along  sheer  precipices,  everywhere 
save  alone  in  this  one  spot.  But  there  was  a 
scant  table  land,  and  from  it  a  small  grove  of 
pines  rose  high  in  the  blue  of  the  brightening  sky, 
their  gnarled  limbs  still  and  sturdy.  It  was  above 
this  single  noteworthy  clump  of  ancient  boled  trees 
to  be  seen  upon  these  inhospitable  heights  that 
the  thin  bluish  smoke  arose. 

To  Drennen,  frowning  across  the  gulf  separat- 
ing him  and  his  quarry,  there  seemed  but  one  con- 
ceivable reason  why  a  human  being  should  have 
sought  to  win  a  way  to  that  rocky  aerie.  From 
its  nature  it  was  all  but  unscalable ;  from  its  posi- 
tion it  commanded  in  limitless,  sweeping  view  all 
possible  paths  of  approach.  Did  Sefton's  party 
seek  a  hiding  place  where  defence  even  against 
great  numbers  would  be  a  simple  matter,  this  nest 
upon  the  cliff  tops  was  the  ideal  spot. 

Thus  Drennen  answered  the  riddle.  But  there 
were  other  riddles  which  he  could  not  answer  and 
which  he  gave  over.  Why  had  the  horses  been 
left  where  they  would  be  found  so  readily?  Why 
that  careless  beacon  smoke  where  no  man  could 
fail  to  see  it? 

Max  would  see  it  and  he  would  be  hurrying, 
swifter  than  Drennen  had  come  because  now  it 
was  daylight.    With  the  need  of  haste  crying  in 


262  WOLF  BREED 

his  ears  Drennen  experienced  the  slipping  by  of 
slow  hours  with  nothing  accomplished.  Back  and 
forth  along  the  edge  of  the  cliffs  he  searched 
eagerly,  like  some  great,  gaunt  questing  hound, 
baffled  by  a  cold  track.  Sefton  and  those  with  him 
had  come  here,  had  found  the  way  down,  had 
gained  the  far  side  two  miles  away  across  the  lake. 
They  had  gone  before,  so  he  knew  that  he  could 
come  after.  But  he  grew  feverish  over  the  de- 
lay, thinking  as  much  of  Max  behind  as  of  Sefton 
in  front. 

Again  and  again  he  thought  that  he  had  found 
the  way  down  only  to  be  driven  back  and  up  when 
he  had  made  a  few  perilous  feet  downward  along 
the  beetling  fall  of  rock.  He  sought  tracks  and 
found  nothing;  there  was  nothing  but  hard  rock 
here  which  kept  no  impress  less  than  that  of  the 
tread  of  the  passing  centuries.  He  even  went 
down  into  the  little  valley  where  the  horses  were, 
hoping  that  through  some  deep  cleft  chasm  the 
trail  led  circuitously  to  the  lake  shore.  But  he 
came  back,  again  baffled,  again  hurrying  with  the 
certainty  upon  him  that  Max,  too,  was  hurrying. 

The  sun  was  three  hours  high  when  Drennen 
found  what  he  sought.  With  the  keen  joy  at  the 
discovery  there  came  deep  wonder.  It  was  the 
approach  to  the  lake ;  but  the  wonder  arose  from 
the  unexpected  nature  of  the  path  itself.  He  had 
passed  further  and  further  north  along  the  cliffs 


THE  PATH  DOWN  THE  CLIFF     263 

until  a  couple  of  miles  lay  between  him  and  the 
spot  where  this  latest  quest  had  begun.  And  he 
came  now  to  a  cleft  in  the  rocks.  On  each  hand 
the  cliffs  fell  apart  so  that  at  the  top  the 
chasm  measured  perhaps  ten  or  twelve  feet. 
The  chasm  narrowed  fifty  feet  below  until  it 
formed  a  great  V.  Below  that  Drennen  could 
not  see  until  he  had  made  his  precarious  way 
down  into  the  cut.  And  when  he  had  come 
to  what  had  appeared  from  above  to  be  the  closed 
angle  of  the  V  he  found  the  rest  of  the  way  open 
to  him.  And  the  wonder  arose  from  the  obvious 
fact  that  there  were  many  rude  steps  not  nature- 
made  but  man-made.  There  were  hand-holds 
scooped  out  here  and  there  in  the  rock;  foot-holds 
chiselled  rudely;  and  all  bore  the  mark  of  no 
little  age.  Grass  grew  scantily  in  the  cracks;  a 
young  cedar,  hardy,  with  crooked  roots  like  the 
claws  of  a  monster,  stood  in  one  of  the  deeper 
scooped  hollows;  the  debris  fallen  into  the  man- 
made  steps  had  accumulated  through  the  genera- 
tions. In  one  of  these  places,  when  he  had  gone 
downward  a  hundred  feet,  he  came  to  a  little 
space  of  soft  soil  which  held  the  trampled  impress 
of  boots. 

Now,  his  rifle  slung  to  his  back,  his  fingers 
gripping  at  cracks  and  seams  and  little  knobs  of 
stone,  he  made  what  speed  he  could.  The  way 
he  followed  led  along  a  long,  horizontal  fissure 


264  WOLF  BREED 

for  a  space,  then  dipped  dangerously  near  the 
perpendicular,  then  slanted  off  so  that  the  danger 
was  less,  greater  speed  possible.  He  did  not  look 
down  to  the  lake,  fearing  the  dizziness  which 
might  lay  hold  of  him  and  whip  him  from  the 
face  of  the  cliffs  like  a  fly  caught  in  a  rush  of 
wind. 

The  thought  entered  his  mind,  "Ygerne  Bel- 
laire  had  gone  on  here  before  him !"  He  pictured 
her  confident  bearing  as  she  climbed  down,  her 
capable  hands  clinging  to  the  rocks,  her  fearless 
eyes  as  she  looked  down  at  the  blue  glint  of  the 
lake  a  thousand  feet  below,  the  red  curve  of  her 
lips  as  she  smiled  her  contempt  of  the  danger. 
Be  she  what  she  might,  Ygerne  Bellaire  was  not 
the  coward  he  had  once  thought  all  women. 

He  grew  angry  with  himself  for  harbouring 
a  thought  into  which  a  tinge  of  admiration  for 
her  entered.  He  was  coming  up  with  her  soon; 
he  sneered  at  himself  and  at  her  and  crept  on 
downward. 

Again  and  again  the  way  looked  impossible; 
again  and  again  he  found  the  scooped-out  hand- 
hold which  carried  him  on.  And  yet  it  was  an- 
other two  hours  before  he  had  dropped  the  last 
ten  feet  to  the  narrow,  pebbly  shore  of  Red  Deer 
Lake. 

Now  there  would  be  no  more  lost  time,  no 
hesitation  in  finding  the  path  he  must  follow.   For 


THE  PATH  DOWN  THE  CLIFF     265 

here,  at  the  marge,  were  the  tracks  of  those  who 
had  gone  before.  And  there  was  but  one  way 
these  could  lead.  For  upon  the  left  hand  the 
cliffs  came  down  to  the  water  and  there  was  no 
path ;  upon  the  right  there  was  a  six-foot  strip  of 
uneven  beach. 

The  sudden  sound  of  a  voice  shouting  dropped 
down  to  him.  Jerking  his  head  up  he  made  out 
the  form  of  Lieutenant  Max  at  the  top  of  this 
devil's  stairway  down  which  he  had  just  come. 
Drennen  laughed  shortly  and  turned  northward 
along  the  lake  shore.  He  had  lost  time  but  he 
would  lose  no  more.  He  still  had  two  hours  the 
best  of  it;  it  would  take  Max  fully  that  long  to 
make  the  descent. 

*'When  he  comes  up  with  me,"  was  Drennen's 
quick  thought,  **my  work  will  have  been  done!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

CHATEAU   BELLAIRE 

NOW  Drennen,  having  passed  around  the 
shore  of  Red  Deer  Lake,  having  often 
dipped  his  body  into  the  icy  water  where  there 
was  little  room  to  pass  between  the  lake  and  the 
cliffs,  having  fought  his  way  upward  again  much 
as  he  had  travelled  downward  but  by  an  easier 
path,  came  at  last,  in  the  late  afternoon,  to  the 
grove  of  giant  trees  upon  the  crest  of  the  great 
ridge.  And,  as  he  paused  a  moment,  a  new  won- 
der was  upon  him. 

He  had  expected  to  find  here  merely  a  rude 
camp ;  he  found  himself  staring  at  a  house  under 
the  trees  I  Such  a  house  as  he  had  never  seen  in 
all  of  his  life,  but  a  house  none  the  less.  It  was 
screened  from  him  by  the  tree  trunks  until  he 
stood  within  fifty  yards  of  it;  it  was  disguised  now 
in  the  very  manner  of  its  construction. 

The  corners  were  great  stacks  of  high  piled 
flat  stones;  across  the  rude  columns  lay  tree  trunks 
roughly  squared  with  axes;  the  roof  was  a  slop- 
ing shed-roof,  steep  pitched^  made  of  saplings,  cov- 

266 


CHATEAU  BELLAIRE  267 

ercd  a  foot  deep  with  loose  soil.  In  this  soil  grew 
the  hardy  mountain  grasses;  even  two  or  three 
young  trees  were  seeking  life  here  where  the  cones 
had  fallen  from  the  lofty  branches  of  the  mother 
trees.  Over  the  great,  square  door  was  a  long 
slab  of  wood,  carefully  cut  into  a  thick  board, 
the  marks  of  the  axe  blades  still  showing.  And 
inscribed  deep  into  this  board,  the  letters  having 
been  burned  there  with  a  red  hot  iron,  were  the 
words : 

CHATEAU  BELLAIRE. 

Drennen's  pause  was  brief.  From  the  low, 
awkward  building  there  were  voices  floating  out 
to  him.  He  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  long 
trail.  One  voice,  low  toned  and  clear,  drove  the 
blood  racing  through  his  body.  His  hand  shook 
upon  his  rifle  stock.  In  spite  of  him  a  strange 
shiver  ran  through  him.  He  knew  now  how 
only  a  woman,  one  woman,  can  bring  to  a 
man  his  heaven  of  joy,  his  hell  of  sorrows.  And 
that  woman,  the  one  woman,  was  at  last  only 
fifty  yards  away  I  After  all  of  these  bitter 
empty  months  she  was  at  last  only  fifty  yards 
away  I 

He  came  on  slowly,  making  no  sound.  He 
drew  near  the  corner  of  the  building.  The  voices 
came  more  distinctly,  each  word  clear.  The  other 
voice  was  the  musical  utterance  of  Ramon  Garcia. 


268  WOLF  BREED 

Again  Drennen  stopped  for  a  brief  instant.  Were 
Sefton  and  Lemarc  in  there,  too? 

Ygerne's  laughter  drove  a  frown  into  his  eyes. 
His  hand  was  steady  now  upon  his  rifle.  Her 
laughter  was  like  a  child's,  and  a  child's  is  like 
the  music  of  God's  own  heaven.  Drennen  came 
on. 

In  another  moment  he  stood  at  the  wide  door, 
looking  in.  There  was  a  hunger  in  his  eyes  which 
he  could  not  guess  would  ever  come  into  them.  He 
did  not  see  Garcia  just  then,  though  the  little 
Mexican  stood  out  in  full  view,  making  the  girl 
a  sweeping,  exaggerated  bow  after  his  manner. 
He  did  not  notice  the  long  bare  floor  nor  yet 
the  rough  beams  across  the  ceiling;  he  registered 
no  mental  picture  of  the  deep  throated,  rock  chim- 
ney, the  rude,  worm  eaten  table  and  benches,  the 
few  homemade  objects  scattered  about  the  long 
room.  He  saw  only  Ygerne  Bellaire,  and  the 
picture  which  she  made  would  never  grow  dim  in 
the  man's  mind  though  he  lived  a  hundred  years. 

She  stood  upon  a  monster  bear  skin.  Upon 
the  rug,  strewn  about  her  carelessly,  their  bright 
discs  adance  with  reflected  light,  a  thousand 
minted  gold  pieces  caught  the  glint  of  the  low 
sun.  Her  head  was  thrown  back,  her  arms  lifted. 
Her  eyes  were  filled  with  light,  her  red  mouth 
curved  to  the  gaity  of  her  laughter.  About  her 
white  throat  was  the  dazzle  of  diamonds;  upon 


CHATEAU  BELLAIRE  269 

her  bared  white  arms  was  the  splendour  of 
diamonds. 

**My  Countess!'*  murmured  the  Mexican,  his 
eyes  soft  with  the  unhidden  worship  in  them. 
"You  are  like  a  Lady  who  is  born  out  from  the 
dream  of  a  poet!  See!"  He  dropped  suddenly 
to  his  knees,  caught  up  the  hem  of  her  short  skirt 
and  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  "You  are  the  Queen 
of  the  WorlM" 

"At  last,"  she  cried,  her  voice  ringing  trium- 
phantly, "I  have  come  into  my  own!  For  it  is 
mine,  mine,  I  tell  you!  You  shall  have  your 
share,  and  Sefton  and  Marc !  But  it  is  mine,  the 
heritage  of  Paul  Bellaire !" 

As  Garcia  had  stooped  something  had  fallen 
from  his  breast.  Rising  swiftly  he  caught  it  up. 
It  was  a  little  faded  bunch  of  field  flowers. 

"My  share,  sefiorita?"  He  laughed  softly. 
"I  am  not  come  here  for  gol'.  Me,  I  have  this." 
He  lifted  the  flowers,  his  eyes  tender  upon  them. 
"With  this  I  am  more  rich  than  the  King  of 
Spain!" 

Drennen's  dry  laugh,  the  old,  bitter  snarl,  cut 
through  the  room  like  a  curse.  They  had  not 
seen  him;  they  had  been  too  busy  with  their  own 
thoughts.  Now,  as  they  whirled  toward  the  door 
which  framed  him,  Garcia's  hand  went  swiftly  to 
his  pocket,  Ygerne's  face  grew  as  white  as 
death. 


270  WOLF  BREED 

'*So,"  said  the  Mexican  softly.  "You  are  come, 
sefior!" 

The  muzzle  of  Drennen's  rifle  moved  in  a  quick 
arc.    It  came  to  rest  bearing  upon  Garcia's  breast. 

"Turn  your  back  I"  commanded  Drennen 
sharply.  He  came  well  into  the  room,  setting  his 
own  back  to  the  wall  so  that,  should  Sefton  and 
Lemarc  come,  he  should  be  ready  for  them.  "Do 
you  hear  me?"  for  Garcia  had  not  stirred.  "By 
God,  I'll  kill  you  .  .  .'* 

Garcia  shrugged,  and  shrugging  obeyed  the 
command  which  he  was  in  no  position  to  disobey. 
And,  as  again  Drennen's  curt  words  came  crisply 
to  him,  he  obeyed,  tossing  his  revolver  aside  so 
that  it  fell  close  to  the  wall.  Then,  with  Ygerne's 
wide  eyes  upon  them  both,  Garcia  backed  up  to 
Drennen  and  Drennen  searched  him  swiftly,  re- 
moving a  cruel-bladed  knife. 

"Your  little  flowers,"  sneered  Drennen,  "you 
can  keep." 

He  caught  a  murderous  gleam  from  Garcia's 
eyes. 

"The  man  who  would  touch  them,  senor,"  the 
Mexican  said  softly,  "would  die.  if  I  have  but 
my  hands  to  kill!" 

"And  now,  my  fine  Countess  Ygerne,"  mocked 
Drennen,  coming  a  step  toward  her.  "Have  you 
still  your  nice  little  habit  .  .   ." 

As  though  in  answer  her  hand  had  sped  toward 


CHATEAU  BELLAIRE  271 

her  bosom.  But  Drennen  was  too  close  to  her, 
too  quick  and  too  strong.  His  grip  set  heavy, 
like  steel,  upon  her  wrist,  he  whipped  out  her 
weapon  and  tossed  it  to  lie  beside  Garcia's. 

**You  brute,"  she  said  coolly. 

He  regarded  her  in  silence,  insolently.  His 
eyes  were  bright  and  inexorable  with  their  cold 
triumph. 

"So,"  he  said  in  a  little,  having  passed  over  her 
remark  just  as  he  had  ignored  Garcia's,  "in  all 
of  your  lying  to  me  there  was  some  grain  of 
truth  I  There  was  a  Bellaire  treasure  and  you 
have  found  it." 

"Yes,"  she  cried  passionately,  her  hands 
clenched  and  grown  bloodlessly  white.  "And  I'll 
spend  every  cent  of  it  to  make  you  suffer  for  the 
things  .  .  ." 

"Not  so  fast,"  he  taunted  her.  "Do  you  guess 
what  I  am  going  to  do  ?  Do  you  know  that  I  am 
the  one  who  is  going  to  deal  out  the  suffering? 
There  is  nothing  in  God's  world  you  love  .  .  . 
except  it  be  yourself  ...  as  you  love  gold  1  To 
find  is  one  thing;  to  keep  is  another." 

"You  mean,"  she  cried  angrily,  "that  you  will 
try  to  rob  me?" 

"I  mean,"  he  retorted  grimly,  "that  in  a  little 
while  you  and  I  are  going  out  there  to  the  edge  of 
the  cliffs.  You  shall  watch  me;  you  shall  see  your 
diamonds  circle  in  the  sun  before  they  go  down 


272  WOLF  BREED 

into  the  lake  I  And  then  the  gold  is  going  where 
they  go!" 

It  seemed  to  him  that  now,  at  last,  was  he 
Lucky  Drennen  indeed.  Never  had  he  known 
how  to  make  this  woman  suffer;  now  he  believed 
that  the  way  was  made  plain  before  him. 

"David  Drennen,*'  she  said,  the  beauty  of  her 
face  swept  across  with  a  fiery  anger,  *'one  of 
these  days  I  am  going  to  kill  you  I" 

He  laughed.  He  had  waited  long  to  stand 
there  before  her  as  he  now  stood,  laughing  at  her. 
He  had  dreamed  dreams  of  a  time  like  this  but 
always  his  dreamings  had  fallen  short  of  the 
reality.  He  would  hurt  her  and  then,  staring  into 
her  eyes,  he  would  laugh  at  her.  He  saw  the 
rush  of  blood  flaming  up  redly  in  her  face,  saw 
it  draw  out,  leaving  her  cheeks  white,  and  the  evil 
in  him  raised  its  head  and  hissed  through  his 
laughter. 

'*Sangre  de  DiosF'  muttered  the  Mexican, 
twisting  his  head  as  he  stood  facing  the  wall.  *'He 
has  gone  mad!" 

Suddenly  Ygerne  had  whipped  off  necklace  and 
bracelet  and  had  thrust  deep  into  her  bosom  the 
old  famous  French  jewels  which  the  gay  Count  of 
Bellaire  had  won  across  the  green  topped  tables. 
It  was  Drennen's  time  to  shrug. 

**Put  them  where  you  please,"  he  told  her  with 
his  old  lip-lifted  sneer.    "Fll  get  them.    Put  them 


CHATEAU  BELLAIRE  273 

between  your  white  breasts  that  are  as  cold  and 
bloodless  as  the  stones  themselves.    I'll  get  them." 

"You  .  .  .  you  unspeakable  cur!"  she  panted, 
in  a  flash  scarlet-faced. 

Garcia  was  edging  slowly,  noiselessly  along  the 
wall  toward  the  two  revolvers,  his  and  Ygerne's. 
Drcnnen  whipped  about  upon  him  with  a  snapping 
curse. 

*'Stand  where  you  arc,  do  you  hear?  You  go 
free  of  this  when  I  am  through  ...  if  you  are 
not  a  fool!  It  is  this  girl  I  want.  Her  and 
SeftonI     Where  is  Sefton?" 

Ygerne,  biting  her  lips  into  silence,  her  eyes 
flashing  at  him,  her  Insulted  breasts  rising  and 
falling  passionately,  answered  him  with  her  mute 
contempt.    Garcia  lifted  his  shoulders. 

''With  el  seiior  Marco  he  is  away  for  the 
horses.  .  .   ." 

**LiarI"  said  Drennen  sternly.  "What  horses 
can  climb  these  cliffs?" 

"Don't  answer  his  questions!"  commanded 
Ygerne. 

"Silence  is  as  good  as  the  lies  I'd  get," 
retorted  Drennen. 

He  closed  the  heavy  panelled  door  behind  him, 
dropping  into  place  an  iron  bolt  which  fastened 
staple  and  hasp.  There  was  one  other  door  at 
the  far  end  of  the  long  room;  he  moved  toward 
it,  at  all  times  watching  Garcia  and  Ygerne.    Here 


274  WOLF  BREED 

was  a  smaller  room,  perhaps  a  third  the  size  of 
the  first,  without  doors,  its  windows  boarded  up 
with  thick  ax-hewn  slabs.  The  floor  of  this  room 
had  been  wrenched  loose  and  torn  away;  there 
were  big  chests  still  sunken  in  the  soil  beneath,  the 
boxes  crumbling  and  evidently  broken  in  their 
hasty  rifling. 

He  came  back  into  the  larger  room.  Sefton 
and  Lemarc,  when  they  came,  mqst  enter  through 
the  door  at  the  front.  And  he  could  do  nothing 
but  wait,  his  heart  burning  with  the  feverish  hope 
that  they  would  come  before  Max  and  the  others. 
He  drew  a  bench  close  to  the  door  and  sat  down, 
his  face  turned  so  that  he  could  at  once  watch 
Ygerne  and  Garcia  and  not  lose  sight  of  the  door. 
He  rose  again,  almost  immediately,  picked  up  the 
two  revolvers  and  the  knife,  dropped  them  to  the 
floor  under  his  bench  and  sat  down  again. 

Ygerne  in  a  little,  her  eyes  never  leaving  his 
face,  sat  where  she  had  been  standing,  upon  the 
rug  amidst  the  scattered  gold.  Now  and  then 
her  fingers  stole  from  her  lap  to  the  old  coins 
about  her ;  once  or  twice  her  fingers  travelled  slow- 
ly to  her  breast  where  the  diamonds  lay  hidden. 

Garcia  did  not  move.  As  commanded  he  faced 
the  wall.  Once  or  twice  only  he  turned  his  head 
a  little,  his  eyes  paying  no  heed  to  Drennen  but 
seeking  Ygerne.  And  his  eyes  were  not  gay  now, 
but  restless  and  troubled. 


CHATEAU  BELLAIRE  275 

In  a  deep  silence  through  which  the  faint  mur- 
mur of  the  branches  above  the  Chateau  Bellaire 
spoke  like  a  quiet  sigh,  they  waited.  To  each, 
with  his  own  bitter  thoughts,  the  time  writhed 
slowly  like  a  wounded  serpent. 

Upon  a  little  thing  did  many  human  destinies 
depend  that  summer  afternoon.  Though  a  man's 
destiny  be  always  suspended  by  a  mere  silken 
thread,  not  always  is  it  given  to  him  to  see  the 
thread  itself  and  know  how  fragile  it  is.  Had 
Lieutenant  Max  been  five  minutes  later  in  pick- 
ing up  Drennen's  trail  .  .  .  had  Sefton  and  Le- 
marc  returned  to  the  "chateau"  five  minutes 
earlier,  God  knows  where  the  story  would  have 
ended. 

As  it  was  it  was  Max's  tread  which  Drennen's 
eager  ears  first  heard  drawing  near  swiftly.  And 
a  moment  later  Max  himself,  with  big  Kootanie 
George  at  his  heels  and  both  Marshall  Sothern 
and  Ernestine  hurrying  after  them,  came  running 
toward  the  strange  building.  Drennen  at  the 
door,  his  rifle  laid  across  his  arm,  met  them. 

"Well?"  snapped  the  officer.  "What  in  hell's 
name  have  you  done?" 

Ygerne  had  leaped  to  her  feet,  a  little  glad  cry 
upon  her  lips.  No  doubt  she  had  thought  that  this 
was  Sefton  returning,  Lemarc  with  him.  She 
stood  still,  staring  incredulously,  as  she  saw  who 
these  others  were.     A  strange  man,  with  an  air 


276  WOLF  BREED 

of  command  about  him  .  .  .  Kootanie  George, 
his  face  convulsed  with  rage  as  his  eyes  met  her 
own  .  .  .   Marshall  Sothern  .  .  .  Ernestine! 

**I  came  to  find  Captain  Sefton,"  was  Dren- 
nen's  slow  answer  to  the  lieutenant's  challenge. 
**He  is  not  here.     I  am  waiting  for  him." 

"You  have  killed  him  I"  shouted  Max,  pushing 
through  the  doorway. 

"I  have  not,"  said  Drennen  quietly.  *'But  I 
shall." 

*'The  Mexican,  Garcia!"  snapped  Max 
irritably.  "And  the  girl.  I  have  no  warrant  for 
them.     Hell's  bells!     Where  are  the  others?" 

To  answer  his  own  question  he  strode  toward 
the  rear  door.  Half  way  down  the  long  room  he 
stopped  with  a  muttered  exclamation  of  surprise. 
He  had  seen  the  gold  upon  the  old  bear  skin. 

"Have  they  robbed  the  Bank  of  England?"  he 
gasped. 

From  without  came  the  sharp  rattle  of  shod 
hoofs  against  the  rocky  ground. 

"It  is  Sefton  and  Marco  who  return,"  mur- 
mured Garcia,  his  hand  at  his  mustache,  a  look 
of  great  thoughtfulness  in  his  eyes.  "Now  there 
will  be  another  kind  of  talk!" 

And  he  looked  regretfully  toward  the  rcYolvcr 
lying  under  Drennen's  bench. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  SPEAKING  OF  GUNS 

MAX  had  heard,  whirled  and  came  running 
back  to  the  door. 

"Stand  aside  I"  he  called  to  Drennen.  "Those 
men  are  my  prisoners." 

Drennen  made  no  answer.  Mindful  of  the 
weapons  on  the  floor  he  caught  them  up  and 
threw  them  far  out  into  the  underbrush.  His  rifle 
ready  in  both  hands,  his  purpose  standing  naked 
in  his  eyes,  he  stepped  out  after  Max. 

"Curse  you  I"  shouted  Max  over  his  shoulder. 
"If  you  interfere  now  I'll  shoot  you  like  a  dogl" 

Sefton  and  Lemarc,  riding  and  leading  two 
other  horses,  came  into  view  through  the  trees. 
Evidently  Garcia  had  not  lied,  evidently  there  was 
some  roundabout  trail  from  the  far  side  of  the 
lake,  evidently,  the  treasure  found,  these  men 
wished  to  lose  no  time  in  carrying  it  away  with 
them. 

They  had  not  heard  until  they  had  seen;  by 
that  time  they  were  not  fifty  yards  away  and 
Max's  rifle  bore  unwaveringly  upon  Sefton's 
chest. 

377 


278  WOLF  BREED 

"Up  with  your  hands,  Sefton  and  Lemarcl" 
he  called  loudly.     **In  the  name  of  the  Law  I" 

"Fight  it  out,  Sefton,  if  you  are  a  man  I"  shouted 
Drennen,  his  own  rifle  at  his  shoulder.  "I  am 
going  to  kill  you  any  wayl'* 

Ernestine  was  crying  out  inarticulately;  no  one 
listened  to  the  thing  she  was  trying  to  say.  She 
had  waited  too  long.  Marshall  Sothern,  a  queer 
smile  upon  his  lips  which  Drennen  was  never  to 
forget,  strode  to  his  son's  side. 

"Dave,"  he  said  gently.  "If  you  are  doing  this 
for  me  ...  let  be !     I  have  told  Max." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  muttered  Drennen 
dully.     "Told  him  what?" 

"Who  I  am." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  the  barrel  of  Drennen's 
rifle,  forcing  it  downward.  His  son  stared  at  him 
with  wondering  eyes. 

"I  don't  understand.  .  .  ." 

Both  Sefton  and  Lemarc,  with  one  accord  had 
jerked  in  their  horses,  their  hands  dropping  the 
ropes  of  the  animals  they  led  and  going  the  swift, 
certain  way  to  the  gun  in  the  coat  pocket. 

"It's  a  hold-up.  Marc!"  cried  Sefton,  driving 
his  heels  into  his  horse's  sides  and  coming  on  in 
defiance  of  the  rifle  still  trained  upon  him. 
"Garcia  I" 

Garcia  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  watched, 
having  nothing  else  to  do. 


THE  SPEAKING  OF  GUNS         279 

"Walt!"  screamed  Marc  after  Sefton.  ''Can't 
you  see  the  uniform?    He*s  one  of  the  Mounted." 

Sefton  saw.  He  saw  too  that  at  the  door  was 
David  Drennen;  that  at  his  side  was  Marshall 
Sothern;  that  big  Kootanie  George  stood  out,  a 
little  in  front.  His  face  went  white;  he  jerked 
his  horse  back  upon  its  haunches;  his  teeth  cut, 
gnawing,  at  his  lip.  He  saw  and  he  understood. 
He  knew  that  for  him  the  play  was  over;  he  knew 
that  within  the  old  house  was  a  fortune  for  many 
men  and  that  he  had  had  his  hands  on  it  and  that 
it  was  not  to  be  for  him.  His  white  face 
went  whiter  with  the  rage  and  despair  upon 
him. 

*'It's  you  that  did  for  me !"  he  yelled.  *Tou, 
John  Harper  Drennen  I  You  I  Damn  you  .  .  . 
take  that!" 

In  the  first  grip  of  the  fury  upon  him  he  fired. 
Fired  so  that  the  short  barrel  of  his  revolver, 
spitting  out  the  leaden  pellets,  grew  hot.  He  was 
too  close  to  miss.  Marshall  Sothern  clutched  at 
Drennen's  arm  and  went  down,  sinking  slowly,  not 
so  much  as  a  groan  bursting  from  his  lips. 
And  as  he  dropped  Kootanie  George  fell  with 
him,  the  big  Canadian's  broad  chest  taking  the 
first  of  the  flying  bullets. 

Drennen  and  Max  fired  almost  at  the  same  in- 
stant, the  rifles  snapping  together.  Too  close  to 
miss  a  target  like  that,  and  Sefton,  clutching  at 


280  WOLF  BREED 

his  horse's  mane,  slipped  from  the  saddle  and  to 
the  ground. 

*'Lemarc,"  shouted  Max  sternly,  "come  on! 
Your  hands  up  or  you  get  the  same  thing.** 

He  had  not  seen  old  Marshall  Sothern  fall. 
Drennen  was  on  his  knees  now,  his  father's  head 
caught  up  in  his  lap,  his  face  horrible  with  the 
grief  upon  it  as  he  bent  forward.  The  old  man 
was  badly  hurt  but  conscious.  His  eyes  went  to 
David's,  his  hand  sought  to  close  about  his  son's. 
And  Drennen,  leaning  lower  as  he  saw  the  lips 
framing  words,  thought  that  he  had  not  heard 
aright. 

*'Thank  God  I"  was  what  Marshall  Sothern 
was  saying. 

There  had  been  the  one  sharp  fusillade  and  the 
fight  was  over.  Three  men  lay  upon  the  ground, 
two  of  them  having  caught  their  death  wounds. 
Sefton  sprawled  where  he  had  fallen,  alone.  He 
would  lie  there  until  the  life  rattled  out  of  his 
body.  Ernestine,  sobbing  a  moment,  then  very 
still,  was  over  Kootanie  George's  body,  her  poor 
frail  hands  already  red  with  his  blood  as  she 
sought  to  lift  him  a  little.  George  was  looking 
up  at  her  wonderingly.  He  did  not  understand; 
he  could  not  understand  yet.  If  she  didn't 
love  him,  then  why  did  she  look  at  him  like 
that? 

Lemarc,  his  dark  face  a  study  in  anger  and 


THE  SPEAKING  OF  GUNS        281 

despair,  lifted  his  two  arms.  Max,  his  eyes  hard 
upon  his  prisoner,  strode  forward  to  disarm  him 
and  take  him  into  closer  custody.  So,  even  yet, 
since  neither  Marshall  Sothern  nor  Kootanle  had 
uttered  a  loud  outcry,  the  lieutenant  was  uncon- 
scious of  all  that  had  happened  so  few  steps  be- 
hind him. 

The  sun  was  entangled  In  the  tree  tops  far  to 
the  westward,  the  red  sunset  already  tingeing  the 
sky.  In  a  little  the  cool  sting  of  the  dusk  would 
be  in  the  air. 

Drennen,  stooping  still  further,  slipped  his  arms 
about  Marshall  Sothern's  body.  As  his  father  had 
carried  him  to  his  own  dugout,  so  now  did  he 
bear  his  father  Into  the  house.  He  wanted  no 
help;  he  was  jealous  of  this  duty.  And,  looking 
down  into  the  white  face  at  his  shoulder.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  the  pain  had  gone  out  of  it;  that  there 
was  a  deep  joy  for  this  wounded  man  to  be 
gripped  thus  in  the  arms  of  his  son. 

Garcia,  obeying  two  curt  commands  from 
Drennen,  cleared  the  bearskin  of  its  golden 
freight  and  builded  a  fire  in  the  rock  chimney. 
Very  tenderly  Drennen  lay  the  old  man  down, 
seeking  to  give  him  what  comfort  there  was  to 
give. 

Ygerne,  trembling  visibly  now,  her  face  white 
and  sick,  watched  Drennen  wordlessly.  She  had 
seen  everything;  she  had  marked  how  Sefton  lay 


282  WOLF  BREED 

where  Max's  and  Drennen's  bullets  had  found 
him;  she  had  seen  Kootanie  George  drop;  she  had 
seen  Ernestine  crouching  over  him;  she  had  seen 
and  had  read  the  writing  in  the  old  man's  face. 
Now  her  eyes  were  upon  Drennen.  And  he  did 
not  see  her. 

"Dad,"  he  said,  a  queer  catch  in  his  voice. 
"Dad.  .  .  ." 

The  old  man's  stern  eyes  softened;  a  smile 
fought  hard  for  its  place  upon  his  lips  and  in  the 
end  drove  away  for  a  little  the  pain  there.  There 
was  just  a  flutter  of  his  fingers  as  they  sought  to 
tighten  about  his  son's. 

"Davie,"  he  whispered  faintly. 

Then  he  lay  still,  an  iron  will  holding  what  little 
strength  lay  in  him.  David  sought  the  wound 
and  found  .  .  .  three.  A  harsh  sob  broke  from 
him  when  he  read  the  meaning  that  the  three 
bleeding  wounds  spelled.  He  had  seen  men  with 
their  mortal  wounds  before.  He  knew  that  he 
might  stop  the  outward  flow  of  blood  a  little; 
that  perhaps  his  father  might  live  to  see  the  sun 
come  up.  But  he  knew,  and  his  father  knew, 
that  at  last  John  Harper  Drennen,  good  man  or 
bad,  was  at  last  going  to  his  reckoning. 

Ygerne  Bellaire,  while  she  and  Marshall  Soth- 
ern  had  nursed  David  Drennen,  had  seen  hourly 
all  of  the  courtly,  knightly  gentleness  and  tender- 
ness which  was  one  side  of  the  old  man.     Now 


THE  SPEAKING  OF  GUNS        283 

she  came  swiftly  to  the  edge  of  the  bearskin.  She, 
too,  went  down  upon  her  knees  at  Sothern's  side, 
just  opposite  Drennen.  Her  hands  did  not  trem- 
ble as  they  grew  red  with  the  spurting  blood.  She 
said  nothing,  but  she  helped  Drennen,  who,  hav- 
ing looked  at  her  once  with  terrible  eyes,  made  no 
protest.  Together  they  made  bandages  and 
sought  to  do  what  they  could,  Ygerne  fastening 
the  knots  while  Drennen  lifted  the  prone  body. 
When  they  had  done  the  old  man  thanked  them 
both  silently,  equally,  with  his  eyes. 

So  Lieutenant  Max  found  them  when,  driving 
Lemarc  before  him,  he  came  into  the  room.  The 
officer's  face,  as  hard  as  rock,  softened  wonder- 
fully as  he  cried  out  and  came  quickly  to  Marshall 
Sothern's  side. 

*'Mr.  Sothern  I"  he  said  harshly.  "He  got  you 
.  .  .  my  God  I" 

**It  saves  you  a  nasty  job,  my  boy,"  Sothern 
said  gently.  **And  me  much  unhappiness.  I'm 
old.  Max,  and  I'm  tired  and  my  work's  done. 
I'm  glad,  glad  to  go.  .  .  ." 

For  a  little  he  was  silent,  exhausted,  his  eyes 
closed.  Then,  the  smile  seeming  to  come  more 
easily  to  the  white  lips,  his  eyes  still  shut,  he  mur- 
mured so  that  they  leaned  closer  not  to  miss  the 
words : 

*'God  is  good  to  me  in  the  end.  I  have  always 
been  lonely  .  .  .  without  your  mamma,    Davie. 


284  WOLF  BREED 

And  now  I  am  going  to  her  .  .  .  with  all  I  love 
in  life  telling  me  .  .  .  good-bye.  You,  Max,  my 
boy  .  .  .  you,  Davie,  my  son  .  .  .  you,  Ygerne, 
my  daughter.   .  .  ." 

Ygerne,  a  sob  shaking  at  her  breast,  rose 
swiftly  and  went  out.  But  In  a  moment  she  was 
back,  bringing  with  her  a  little  flask  of  brandy. 
The  eyes  of  Ramon  Garcia,  the  only  eyes  in  the 
room  to  follow  her,  grew  unutterly  sad. 

A  little  of  the  brandy  added  fuel  to  the  flicker- 
ing fire  of  life  in  Marshall  Sothern.  At  his  com- 
mand they  propped  him  up,  the  rug  under  him, 
his  shoulders  against  the  wall  at  the  side  of  the 
fireplace.  Drennen's  face  again  had  grown  im- 
passive. Max  had  not  opened  his  lips  after  his 
first  outburst  but  in  his  eyes  tears  gathered,  slowly 
spilling  over  upon  his  brown  cheeks.  Ygerne,  as 
before,  stood  a  little  aloof. 

"Davie,"  the  old  man  said  slowly,  painfully, 
yet  the  words  distinct  through  the  mastery  of  his 
will;  "I  wanted  to  tell  you  the  story  while  wc 
were  on  the  trail  together  .  .  .  alone,  out  in  the 
woods.  But  It  is  just  as  well  now.  Max,  my 
boy,  you  will  forgive  me?  I  want  just  Davie 
here  .  .  .  and  Ygerne." 

Max  turned  swiftly,  nodding,  a  new  look  in  his 
eyes.  He  had  said  truly;  this  old  man  had 
been  more  than  father  to  him.  Like  all  men  of 
strong  passions  Max  knew  jealousy;  and  now  he 


THE  SPEAKING  OF  GUNS        285 

sought  to  hide  the  hurt  that  he  should  be  sent 
away  even  though  It  be  to  make  place  for  the 
son. 

Max  and  Garcia  and  Lemarc  went  out,  the  door 
closing  after  them.  Coming  to  where  Kootanie 
George  lay  they  saw  that  Ernestine's  face  was 
against  his  breast,  that  George's  great  arms  were 
at  last  flung  about  her  shoulders. 

Meantime  John  Harper  Drennen  told  his 
story.  Knowing  that  his  time  was  short,  his 
strength  waning,  he  gave  only  the  essential  facts 
without  comment,  making  no  defence  for  himself 
which  did  not  lie  upon  the  surface  of  these  facts 
themselves. 

John  Harper  Drennen  had  been  the  second 
vice-president  of  the  Eastern  Mines,  Inc.,  New 
York.  He  had  made  his  reputation  as  a  man  of 
clean  probity,  of  unimpeachable  honour.  His  in- 
fluence became  very  great  because  his  honesty 
was  great.  The  first  vice-president  of  the  com- 
pany was  a  man  named  Frayne.  Just  now  Frayne 
lay  dead  outside  with  Max's  and  Drennen's  bul- 
lets through  his  body. 

Frayne  ...  or  Sefton  .  .  .  while  nominally 
first  vice-president  was  in  actuality  the  manager  of 
Eastern  Mines.  He  had  always  been  a  man  with- 
out principle  but  John  Harper  Drennen  had  be- 
lieved in  him.  There  came  a  time  when  the  East- 
ern Mines  threw  a  new  scheme  upon  the  market. 


286  WOLF  BREED 

Frayne  had  engineered  the  plan  and  had  made 
John  Harper  Drennen  believe  in  it.  John  Harper 
Drennen,  using  his  influence,  had  caused  his 
friends  to  buy  a  total  of  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars  of  worthless  stock. 

Before  the  exposure  came  John  Harper  Dren- 
nen had  had  his  eyes  opened.  He  went  to  Frayne 
and  Frayne  laughed  at  him.  He  went  higher  up 
and  found  that  the  nominal  president  was  under 
Frayne's  thumb. 

Drennen  sought  the  way  to  make  restitution  to 
the  friends  who  had  been  fleeced  through  his  ad- 
vice. He,  himself,  had  not  more  than  twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars  available.  Being  in  a  po- 
sition of  trust  in  the  company,  he  took  from  their 
vaults  the  remaining  seventy-five  thousand  dollars. 
He  gave  the  money,  the  whole  hundred  thousand, 
to  a  broker,  instructing  him  to  buy  the  worthless 
shares.  He  went  to  his  friends,  instructing  them 
to  unload.  He  saw  that  he  had  made  restitution. 
Then,  knowing  that  Frayne  had  cloaked  his  whole 
crooked  deal  in  protective  technicalities  of  the 
law,  knowing  that  his  act  could  be  punished,  he 
left  New  York. 

He  had  sought  to  see  his  son,  but  David  Dren- 
nen was  out  of  town  and  there  was  no  time.  He 
went  to  Paris.  At  last,  a  body  in  the  Seine  gave 
him  the  opportunity  to  play  at  being  dead.  He 
wrote  the  note  which  later  came  to  David.    Then 


THE  SPEAKING  OF  GUNS         287 

he  came  to  New  York  to  find  his  son.  But  David 
had  left. 

Through  the  after  years  the  old  man  had 
sought  always  to  do  two  things:  to  return  to  the 
Eastern  Mines  the  money  which  he  had  taken 
from  the  company;  to  find  his  son. 

That  was  his  story. 

He  lifted  his  eyes  when  it  was  done,  studying 
anxiously  his  son's  face. 

'*I  have  sinned  against  the  laws  of  man,"  he 
said  simply.  *'I  have  tried,  Davie,  not  to  sin 
against  the  laws  of  God." 

Therein  lay  his  only  defence. 

"Dad,"  whispered  the  son,  his  voice  breaking 
now,  the  tears  standing  at  last  in  his  eyes  as  they 
had  stood  in  Max's;  *'it  is  I  who  have  sinned,  be- 
ing a  man  of  little  faith!  Do  you  know  how  I 
worshipped  you  when  I  was  a  boy?  Do  you 
know  how  I  love  you  now?" 

He  bent  forward  swiftly  and  ...  he  was  the 
impulsive,  warm-hearted  boy  again  .  .  .  kissed 
his  father.  And  a  tear,  falling,  ran  in  the  same 
course  with  a  tear  from  the  old  man's  eye.  One 
a  tear  of  heartbreaking  sadness;  one  a  tear  of 
heartbreaking  gladness. 

"You  will  tell  Max?"  asked  Marshall  Sothern. 
"Poor  old  Max.  And  now  ...  let  them  come 
in.  I  have  lived  so  much  alone  ...  I  want  to 
die  among  my  friends." 


288  WOLF  BREED 

They  stood,  heads  bared,  faces  drawn,  about 
the  figure  which  had  again  slipped  down  upon 
the  bear  skin.  Max  knelt  and  took  the  lax  hand 
and  kissed  it. 

'*You  are  the  greatest  man  in  the  world,'*  he 
said  incoherently.  "Do  you  think  I  am  ungrate- 
ful? Do  you  think  I'd  remember  a  thing  like  my 
sworn  duty  and  forget  all  you've  done  for  me, 
all  .  .  ." 

**A  man  Is  no  man  unless  he  does  what  he 
thinks  is  his  duty.  Max.  I  have  tried  to  do  mine. 
You  would  have  done  yours." 

Ramon  Garcia,  standing  a  little  apart,  came 
softly  forward. 

"You  die,  seiior?"  he  asked  very  gently. 

The  old  man  nodded  while  David  Drennen 
looked  up  angrily  at  the  interruption. 

"You  love  your  son?"  Garcia  asked,  still  very 
gently.  "This  Drennen  is  your  son  and  you  love 
him  much?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  I,  Ramon  Garcia,  who  have  never  done 
a  good  thing  in  my  life,  I  do  a  good  thing  now  I 
I  give  you  something  filled  with  sweetness  to  carry 
in  your  heart?  For  why?"  He  shrugged  grace- 
fully. "It  is  so  short  to  tell,  and  maybe  the  tell- 
ing make  others  happy,  too.  See.  It  is  like  this: 
Your  son  love  the  senorita  de  Bellaire.  She  love 
him.     Bueno.     I,  too,  love  her.     I  cannot  make 


THE  SPEAKING  OF  GUNS        289 

her  happy  and  love  me ;  so  I  will  make  her  happy 
anyway.  And  you  happy  while  you  die,  seiior. 
And  your  son  happy  always." 

They  all  looked  at  him  wonderingly.  He 
paused  a  moment,  gathered  what  he  had  to  say 
into  as  few  words  as  might  be  and  went  on  calmly. 

"Senor  David  promise  Miss  Ygerne  he  stake 
Lemarc.  He  give  Lemarc  ten  thousand  dollars. 
Lemarc  come  back  and  say  to  the  lady:  'He  lie. 
He  give  me  nothing.  He  say  he  give  the  money 
and  more  to  the  lady  when  she  give  herself  to 
him  .  .  .  for  a  little  while.'  But  the  lady  who 
had  believe  many  lies  will  not  believe  this  one. 
What  then,  amigos?  Then  Ramon  Garcia,  lov- 
ing the  lady  for  his  own,  tell  Sefton  and  Lemarc 
what  they  shall  do.  He  say  Ernestine  Dumont 
shall  play  sick;  she  shall  say  she  die  and  that 
George  hit  her;  she  shall  make  Senor  David  take 
her  in  his  arms,  maybe.  And  we  take  the  Sefior- 
ita  de  Bellaire  to  seel" 

A  gasp  broke  from  Ygerne;  a  look  that  no 
man  might  read  sweeping  into  her  eyes.  Dren- 
ncn  knelt  still,  looking  stunned.  A  look  of  great 
happiness  came  into  the  old  man's  face. 

"Garcia,"  he  said,  "you  are  a  gentleman  I  It 
is  the  truth  .  .  .  this  is  what  Ernestine  has 
wanted  to  tell  David  .  .  ." 

Now,  coming  swiftly,  came  the  time  for  a  man 
to  die.    He  died  like  a  man,  fearlessly.     He  had 


290  WOLF  BREED 

made  his  hell  knowing  the  thing  he  did;  a  hell 
not  of  filth  and  darkness  but  of  fierce  white  flames 
that  purified.  He  had  walked  through  it,  up- 
right. He  had  lived  without  fear;  he  had  done 
wrong  but  had  done  so  that  another,  greater 
wrong  might  not  be  done ;  he  had  trodden  his  way 
manfully.  He  had  suffered  and  had  caused  suf- 
fering. But  he  had  not  regretted.  He  had  com- 
mitted his  one  sin  .  .  .  if  sin  it  were.  After  that 
his  life  had  been  clean.  Not  so  much  as  a  lie 
had  come  after,  even  a  lie  to  save  his  own  life. 
And  in  the  end,  the  end  coming  swiftly  now,  it 
was  well. 

With  David  Drennen  and  Ygerne  and  Max 
close  about  him,  his  last  sensation  the  touch  of 
their  hands,  his  last  sight  the  sight  of  their  tear- 
wet  faces,  knowing  that  when  he  was  gone  there 
would  be  one  to  comfort  his  son,  he  died. 

It  was  dawn.  David  Drennen  and  Ygerne  Bel- 
laire  standing  silent,  head  bowed  over  the  still 
form  upon  the  bear  skin,  knew  in  their  hearts  that 
there  had  been  no  tragedy  wrought  here.  The 
lips  turned  up  to  them  were  smiling.  The  man 
had  died  full  of  years,  honoured  in  their  hearts, 
loved  deeply.  He  had  grown  weary  at  the  end 
of  a  long  trail  and  his  rest  had  come  to  him  as  he 
wanted  it. 

They  did  not  see   Ramon   Garcia  who  came 


THE  SPEAKING  OF  GUNS        291 

softly  to  the  door.  For  a  moment  he  stood  look- 
ing in,  seeing  only  the  girl;  slowly  there  welled 
up  into  his  soft  eyes  great  tears.  From  his  breast 
he  took  a  little  faded  bunch  of  field  flowers.  He 
raised  them  to  his  lips;  for  a  second,  holding  them 
there,  he  knelt,  his  eyes  still  alone  for  Ygerne. 
Then  he  rose  and  crossed  himself  and  went  away. 
They  had  not  seen.  But  in  a  little  they  heard 
his  voice  as  he  rode  down  into  the  cafion.  It  was 
the  old  song,  lilted  tenderly,  the  voice  seeming 
young  and  gay  and  untroubled: 

"Dio*.     It  is  sweet  to  be  young  .  .  .  and  to  lore." 


CHAPTER  XXT 

THE  BELATED  DAWN 

AT  last  they  passed  out  of  the  thick  shadow! 
which  lay  in  the  forest  lands  and  into  the 
soft  dawn  light  of  the  valley,  Ygerne  and  David, 
riding  side  by  side.  Behind  them  lay  the  hard 
trails  which  separately  each  had  travelled;  be- 
fore them  now  had  the  two  trails  merged,  run- 
ning pleasantly  into  one;  behind  them,  far  back 
in  the  lonely  solitudes  of  the  mountains,  was  the 
old  Chateau  Bellaire  wrapped  about  in  its  own 
history  as  in  a  cloak  of  sable;  in  front  of  them, 
dozing  upon  the  river  banks,  was  MacLeod's  Set- 
tlement. 

They  were  thoughtful-eyed,  thoughtful-souled, 
their  lips  silent,  their  hearts  eloquent,  as  they  rode 
through  the  quiet  street,  passing  Pere  Mar- 
quette's, Joe's,  finally  coming  abreast  of  Drennen's 
old  dugout.  Drennen  drew  rein  as  Ygerne 
stopped  her  horse.  Her  eyes  went  to  the  rude 
cabin,  its  door  open  now  as  it  used  to  be  so  often 
even  when  Drennen  had  lived  there.  Then  she 
turned  back  from  the  house  to  the  man  and  he 

292 


THE  BELATED  DAWN  293 

saw  that  tears  had  gathered  in  the  sweet  grey 
depths  and  were  spilling  over. 

It  was  the  time  of  rich,  deep  midsummer  in  the 
North  Woods  which  had  brought  them  back  to 
the  Settlement  on  their  way  to  Lebarge.  It  was 
the  season  of  joy  come  again,  the  warm,  tender 
joy  of  infinite  love. 

A  certain  thought,  being  framed  upon  Dren- 
nen's  lips,  was  left  unspoken  because  to  the  girl 
the  same  thought  had  come  and  she  had  spoken 
swiftly  after  her  own  impulsive  way: 

"You  asked  me  to  meet  you  once  ...  at 
dawn,"  she  said  softly.  "Do  you  remember? 
And,  instead  of  coming,  I  left  you  a  note  which 
I  could  not  have  written  ...  if  I  had  not  been 
mad  .  .  ." 

"That  is  gone  by  now,  Ygerne,"  he  answered 
gently. 

"But,"  she  whispered,  "the  dawn  has  come  I" 

So  at  last  they  came  to  the  old  log  where  Dren- 
nen  had  come  upon  her  that  day  he  had  hurled 
his  love  at  her  like  a  curse. 

The  flash  of  blue  across  the  Little  MacLeod 
might  have  been  the  wing  of  the  same  blue  bird 
that  had  called  to  them  here  so  long  ago.  A 
winter  had  come,  had  wrought  its  changes  upon 
the  earth  and  had  gone ;  now  it  was  a  deeper  sum- 
mertime; but,  for  all  that,  to-day  might  have  been 
the  day  set  apart  for  this  belated  lovers'  meeting. 


294  WOLF  BREED 

Out  of  the  thick  darkness  at  last  into  the  rosy 
dawn.  Sorrow  and  tragedy  behind,  covered 
deep  In  those  shadows;  love  In  front  of  them 
and  all  that  it  promises  to  the  man  and  the 
woman. 

Ygerne  slipped  from  her  horse  and  went 
straight  to  the  log,  perching  upon  It  as  she  had 
sat  that  other  day.  Drennen,  in  a  moment,  fol- 
lowered  her. 

"Ygerne,"  he  whispered. 

Everything  forgotten  but  the  Now,  a  thrill  ran 
through  the  girl.  She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  and 
smiled  at  him,  holding  out  her  arms.  But,  in 
spite  of  her,  her  heart  was  beating  wildly,  the 
blood  was  running  Into  her  face  until  her  cheeks 
were  stained,  red  and  hot  with  It. 

"Do  you  hate  me  .  .  .  because  I  made  you 
love  me?"  she  asked,  laughing  a  little,  holding 
him  back  from  her  for  the  last  dellciously  shy 
second. 

"Do  you  hate  me,  Ygerne,  because  always  I  was 
brute  to  you?" 

Then  she  no  longer  made  play  at  pressing  him 
back  from  her. 

"We  must  begin  all  over,"  she  said  at  last. 
"Love  is  not  love  which  does  not  trust  to  the  ut- 
termost. We  both  have  lacked  faith,  David, 
dear.  No  matter  what  we  see  with  our  own  eyes, 
hear  with  our  own  ears,  we  must  never  doubt 


THE  BELATED  DAWN  295 

again.  You  will  always  believe  in  me  .  .  .  now 
.  .  .  won't  you,  David? 

They  were  silent  a  little,  busied  with  the  same 
thoughts ;  they  lived  over  the  few  meetings  here ; 
they  remembered  the  rainbow  upon  the  mountain 
flank,  the  dinner  at  Joe's  Lunch  Counter;  they 
were  saying  good-bye  to  MacLeod's  and  were 
looking  forward  to  Lebarge,  the  railroad  and 
what  lay  for  them  beyond.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  Drennen  cried  out  strangely,  and 
Ygerne,  startled,  looked  at  him  wonderingly. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  quickly. 

He  pointed  to  something  lying  in  the  grass  at 
the  side  of  the  log;  just  a  few  bits  of  weather 
spoiled  cardboard  which  once  upon  a  time  had 
been  a  big  box  filled  with  candy  for  her.  He  told 
her  what  it  was.  Her  hand  shut  down  tight  upon 
his  arm;  he  could  feel  a  little  tremor  shake  her; 
then,  deeply  touched  by  this  little  thing,  the  girl 
was  crying  softly.  A  tear  splashed  upon  his  hand, 
a  tear  like  a  pearl. 

'*And  there  was  something  else,  Ygerne,"  he 
said  gently.  "Look.  The  winter  has  left  it  and 
no  man  has  come  here  to  find  it." 

It  was  peeping  out  at  him  from  the  little  hol- 
low upon  the  log's  uneven  surface  where  he  had 
dropped  it,  a  glint  of  gold  from  under  the  piece 
of  bark  which  he  had  put  over  it  and  which  had 
not  been  thrust  aside  by  the  winter  winds. 


296  WOLF  BREED 

"I  got  it  for  you  at  the  same  time,  Ygerne,"  he 
told  her.  "It  was  to  be  my  first  little  present  to 
you.  .  .  ." 

Winter  snow  and  spring  thaw  had  done  no  harm 
to  the  gold  which  could  not  rust  nor  to  the  pearls 
which  could  not  tarnish.  .  .  .  Silently  she  bared 
her  throat  that  he  might  fasten  the  pendant  neck- 
lace for  her.  His  hands  trembled  and  a  strange 
awkwardness  came  upon  him.  But  in  the  end  it 
was  done. 


THE  END 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


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